


The Inquisitor Gwendolyn Trevelyan Story

by wxandwaves



Series: The Inquisitor Gwendolyn Trevelyan Story [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Universe, Canon-Typical Violence, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Novelization, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-09
Updated: 2019-08-28
Packaged: 2020-08-13 20:43:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 28
Words: 154,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20180437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wxandwaves/pseuds/wxandwaves
Summary: Follows the main plot of Dragon Age: Inquisition and the story of former Circle mage Gwendolyn Trevelyan from prologue to end credits with DLCs and post-Trespasser happenings to be added in separate parts. Told from Varric's perspective as if this were his novelization of my Inquisitor's story, often with dialogue directly from the game (mostly in the beginning).Ice mage Gwendolyn Trevelyan was thrilled to leave the Circle and finally see snow for the first time. She was far less excited to be accused of mass murder, have a hole in the sky open up, and suddenly have a glowing green mark on her hand. And no, she doesn't care who knows it.





	1. This Shit is Weird

The sky churned like a roiling sea on a dark and stormy night, centered on a gaping hole that led to the ass-end of nowhere. A hole that spit up many things that day: comets, demons…and a whole lot of trouble. And that trouble had a name: Gwendolyn Trevelyan.

The youngest child of Bann Trevelyan of Ostwick in the Free Marches, Lady Trevelyan appeared the embodiment of Trevelyan nobility: graceful, pale, and cold. And maybe in another life that’s who she would have been, but the big-ass hole in the sky had different plans. Well, and the Chantry. You see, Lady Trevelyan was a mage, and mages and nobility didn’t mix. Instead of living a life of luxury in a posh castle like the rest of the ton, she had spent the overwhelming majority of her existence in the Ostwick Circle of Magi and had been there when everything went to shit in the Free Marches.

Incidentally, everything going to shit is how Lady Trevelyan found herself at the Temple of Sacred Ashes to begin with. She was a mage, certainly, but also a member of the well-connected Trevelyan family, so she’d drawn the short straw at the Ostwick Circle to attend to the Conclave. She wasn’t the only Trevelyan there, of course, but certainly the least welcome one. The clerics and Templars in the family were there too, pushing their own agendas along with the interests of the Trevelyan family. But Lady Trevelyan, and the rest of the Ostwick Magi, just wanted the hot-headed idiots in Ferelden and the Free Marches to stop beating the shit out of each other and killing people, which was something of a novel idea. And so, when Divine Justinia called the Conclave to sue for peace, she’d hopped on the next ship for Ferelden.

Much like the quality of refreshments available at the Conclave, the conclusion that would have been reached remains a complete mystery, mostly because there’s only one person alive who was actually there before the whole place exploded and a big green hole in the sky appeared. To those who looked on from Haven and the Frostback Mountains, it seemed like the end of the world. No one could have survived that. A cursory search of the crater that used to be known as the Temple of Sacred Ashes proved just that, with little more than dust remaining of the Divine and all the other important people who’d been blown sky high.

As it turned out, it was the Right Hand of the Divine—Seeker Cassandra Pentaghast—who was leading a team into the crater when yet another hole in the sky appeared, only this one didn’t spit out a demon. Instead, a being of golden white light emerged from the chasm and pushed an unconscious girl out of it like a doll being tossed out a window. The rift disappeared as quickly as it had appeared, providing far more questions than it had answers. Which, honestly, is fairly typical for anything involving the Fade.

If Lady Trevelyan’s sudden appearance through a Fade rift in the smoldering remains of the Temple of Sacred Ashes wasn’t shocking enough for everyone involved, there was the little matter of the glowing green mark she now sported on her left hand. And to make matters worse, it was pulsing right along with the nightmarish hole in the sky. Which, you know, didn’t exactly inspire confidence.

\---

Gwendolyn Trevelyan had the worst headache in the history of bad headaches. We’re talking a ‘drank an entire bottle of Hirol’s Lava Burst’ kind of headache. And to make matters worse, she was chained to a chair. In a dark room. And there was _dirt _on her pristine white coat. _And _a lock of her platinum blonde hair had fallen into her face, right in front of her eye. And she _couldn’t move it_. It was tickling her nose and her frustration was doing absolutely nothing to help the pounding headache she had. And was it her imagination, or did her entire left arm feel like it was being both set on fire and electrocuted at the same time?

The door to the cell slammed open with all the force of a hurricane, revealing Seeker Pentaghast and Sister Leliana, the Right and Left Hands of Divine Justinia V, respectively. Seeker Pentaghast appeared the embodiment of divine retribution and was looking at Lady Trevelyan as if the latter had just blasphemed Andraste in her presence. Sister Leliana was studying Lady Trevelyan with a gaze that seemed to see through the mage’s soul and discover her every weakness and past mistake. Despite her pretty face and delicate features, Sister Nightingale was not to be underestimated. After all, not many Orlesian bards could say that they’d stood beside the Hero of Ferelden as she felled the Archdemon during the Fifth Blight. Seeker Pentaghast, of course, was my kidnapper. Yeah. Yours truly had been abducted from Kirkwall under the guise of the Seeker bringing me to the Divine to tell her my story. Or so she _claims_.

“So. You’re awake,” said Seeker Pentaghast tersely as she strode into the room, her gaze as fierce as her Navarran accent.

“Where am I? What happened?” asked Lady Trevelyan groggily.

“The chantry in Haven. You were brought here after the Conclave was destroyed, with only _you _surviving,” said Seeker Pentaghast accusingly.

Lady Trevelyan took a moment to respond and shook her head. “What? How? All those people…”

“You were the only survivor. You emerged from the Fade with a glowing woman of light behind you where the Temple of Sacred Ashes used to be,” said Sister Leliana.

“How did this happen?” demanded Seeker Pentaghast.

It was as if they were playing ‘good cop, bad cop’, but with both of them being the bad cop.

“I…I don’t remember,” said Lady Trevelyan. “I remember arriving at the Conclave and then…waking up _here_.”

“Nothing? You remember nothing of the explosion that leveled the Conclave and murdered Divine Justinia?” fumed Seeker Pentaghast.

“You don’t think that _I_ had something to do with this?” balked Lady Trevelyan. She had been accused of a great many things in her twenty-six years of life, but never mass murder. That was a new one for her.

“How else would you explain _this_?” said Seeker Pentaghast as she seized Lady Trevelyan’s left hand and raised it in full view, the mark glowing a brilliant green to light up the room.

Lady Trevelyan stared at her hand in horror, finally having an answer to why she was in so much damn pain but mortified at what she saw. Or at least I assume she was mortified. Anyone would be if they suddenly had a glowing green sparking mark on their hand that was causing them extreme pain. 

“It is pulsing in time with the Breach. They must be connected,” said Seeker Pentaghast.

Right on cue, the mark sparked, and Lady Trevelyan stifled a cry of pain as a wave of intense agony washed over her.

“Your mark and The Breach must be connected, and so it is possible that your mark may control the rifts that have appeared in the area,” said Sister Leliana.

“The possibility of closing the Breach is too great a chance to ignore. There is a rift nearby. If you succeed in closing the rift, then we may have a chance to seal the Breach,” explained Seeker Pentaghast. The Seeker turned to Sister Nightingale, all business. “Go to the forward camp, Leliana. I will take her to the rift.”

“What _did _happen?” asked Gwendolyn.

“It will be easier to show you,” replied the Seeker.

With that, the Seeker stepped forward and unlocked the restraints keeping Gwendolyn glued to the chair, though she remained handcuffed. Cassandra unceremoniously yanked Gwendolyn to her feet and dragged her up the stairs from the chantry dungeon, keeping a firm hand on her upper arm.

It was one thing to hear that there was a hole in the sky, but just being told about it is never quite the same. No words can do justice to seeing the Breach in person. No warnings or numbers of soldiers could prepare you for the crippling feeling of inadequacy and helplessness you feel upon facing that thing up close and personal. Something to that effect likely passed through the young Lady Trevelyan’s mind as she and Seeker Pentaghast left the chantry that day.

Gwendolyn stood there, ocean blue eyes wide in shock, staring up at the Breach.

“That is the Breach. It appeared just after the Temple of Sacred Ashes was destroyed. There is a rift just nearby. We can use it to test your mark,” said Cassandra with a hard look at the mage.

“If there is any way I can help, I will,” said Gwendolyn.

The Seeker did not disapprove of that answer. But rather than allow Gwendolyn to continue to gawk at the hole in the sky, the Seeker took her arm once more and began leading her through Haven. As they walked through the town, townspeople and soldiers glared at them, eyeing Gwendolyn with looks of suspicion and outright hatred.

“Many of them knew those at the Conclave. They will blame you for what happened,” said Cassandra.

“Wonderful,” said Gwendolyn.

As they made it across the bridge at the edge of town and the soldiers opened the heavy wooden doors, the Seeker finally released Gwendolyn’s arm and removed her handcuffs, allowing her to walk freely. The two of them hurried along down the mountain path, and it became clear that the hole in the sky was not the only issue. As soldiers rushed past them, meteors of Fade shit shot down from the Breach, crashing into the frozen ground and spouting demons everywhere. Barricades were on fire, soldiers were dead, there was a _hole in the sky_—it felt like the end of the world.

As the two of them rushed along, they began crossing a bridge over the frozen river. Halfway across, however, a fade meteor rocketed out of the sky and crashed into the bridge, destroying the bridge and sending the Seeker and Lady Trevelyan tumbling onto the ice below.

The Seeker recovered quickly, drawing her sword and shield and plunging into battle against the shades that had emerged from the meteor. Gwendolyn was slower on the uptake and unarmed, but shook it off and glanced around. Sure enough, the destruction of the bridge had knocked over a supply cart—one that just so happened to be carrying a staff. It wasn’t the best weapon ever made, but it suited her purposes at the moment. Without wasting any more time, Gwendolyn rushed over to the cart, picked up the staff, and jumped into the fray to help Cassandra. A winter’s grasp spell here, a flashfire spell there, and pretty soon the demons were no more.

Help in battle aside, the Seeker wasn’t pleased, turning her blade now against Gwendolyn. “Release the weapon, mage.”

Gwendolyn sighed heavily and set the staff down on the ground. “All right, all right, I’ll put it down.”

The Seeker reconsidered this. “Wait—forget it. We may need to fight through more of those creatures to reach the rift—it may be a good idea for you to be prepared.”

Gwendolyn nodded and retrieved the staff, feeling infinitely better about the situation knowing that at least if she was going to die from this nonsense, she wouldn’t go down without some sort of fight.

An uneasy accord having been reached, the two of them set up the hill to start back on their path. Around the bend they encountered even more demons, including a few ranged shades and a rage demon. A Seeker and a powerful Circle mage made quick work of the demons, proving a formidable duo, even if their alliance was both temporary and strained.

They kept moving, battling through demons and broken infrastructure as they went, but soon enough they approached the rift in question. The rift was spewing demons everywhere, and I would know, because I was there. There we were, just a few soldiers, a bald apostate elf, and me, fighting our way through a swarm of demons. It was hell, it was chaos, and then, seemingly out of nowhere, the Seeker and Lady Trevelyan appeared, totally decimating everything in their path.

The Seeker led Lady Trevelyan over to us as we stood beside the rift, and the only clue I had as this girl’s identity was the glowing green mark on her hand. She could have been just about anyone except for that hand. I’d never met the girl until then, you understand, having _also _been held prisoner by the Seeker (long story), so I was not yet fully read in on the details. Nor, I expect, was Lady Trevelyan, given how absolutely confused she was when Solas grabbed her hand and shoved it at the rift. And when the rift immediately collapsed in on itself and disappeared, well, let’s just say that her confusion increased significantly.

“So…so I really_ can _help,” said Gwendolyn in absolute shock.

“Indeed. Your mark and the Breach are connected, so I theorized that it may be used to seal these smaller rifts, as well as the larger Breach,” said Solas.

“You know about my mark?” asked Gwendolyn.

“Indeed. The Seeker asked me to study it while you were held prisoner,” said Solas.

Gwendolyn raised an eyebrow.

“My name is Solas, if there are to be introductions. Indeed I studied your mark and attempted to reinforce its stability,” said Solas.

“He means, ‘I kept the mark from killing you while you slept’,” I supplied.

“Oh. Well, thank you,” said Gwendolyn, she turned to me, clearly expecting some semblance of an introduction.

“Varric Tethras: rogue, storyteller, and occasionally, unwelcome tagalong,” I supplied.

“Varric Tethras? The _author_?” said Gwendolyn in confusion.

“One in the same,” I said.

“That’s quite the crossbow you have there,” she said.

“Bianca’s a one of a kind and the best there is,” I said, patting my crossbow affectionately.

“You named your crossbow Bianca?” asked Gwendolyn, raising an eyebrow.

“Yep,” I said.

“All right then,” said Gwendolyn. She was taking all this in stride, as one does when there’s a hole in the sky and weird shit keeps happening.

“Seeker, though your charge is a mage of some talent, she does not possess nearly the power that would be required to open the Breach,” said Solas.

“Did that truly need clarification?” balked Gwendolyn.

“Then we are no closer to determining the cause of this,” scowled the Seeker.

“Regardless, we must take her to the Breach at once, before the mark consumes her,” said Solas.

“Wonderful,” grumbled Gwendolyn.

Solas and the Seeker began their walk towards the path. I followed after them, turning to Lady Trevelyan to say with a shrug, “Well, Bianca’s excited.”

The four of us headed down a short mountain path down to a frozen lake just as a Fade meteor crashed down onto the surface, spewing demons everywhere. Solas threw a barrier around all of us as I rained fire down on the demons, Gwendolyn froze a rage demon solid, and the Seeker began slashing at the nearest wraith. Fire burned through the air, lightning sizzled, steel flashed, and soon the demons were no more.

The mark sparked again, making Gwendolyn wince, and Solas said, “We must get you to the Breach at once before the mark consumes you.”

If the look she shot him was anything to go by, repeatedly reminding her of her own mortality was not helping.

We ran up a hill with steps made of wooden logs shoved into the snow.

“So, _are_ you innocent?” I asked.

“I don’t know. I don’t remember,” admitted Gwendolyn.

“That’ll getcha every time. Shoulda spun a story,” I said.

“That’s what _you _would have done,” admonished the Seeker.

“It’s more believable. And less likely to result in premature execution,” I said.

The Seeker grunted in disgust.

We hurried up the hill and ran into an ambush of shades and wraiths.

“I hope Leliana made it through all right,” said Cassandra.

“She’s resourceful, Seeker; she’ll be fine,” I reassured her.

We ran down another path and ran into more shades, dispatching them quickly.

“So, that accent of yours. You’re from the Free Marches, right? The east?” I said.

“Very perceptive of you,” said Gwendolyn in light surprise.

“I’m from Kirkwall myself,” I said.

“I gathered. From your books. You had to either be from there or have an extremely vivid imagination,” said Gwendolyn.

“Fair enough,” I said.

“I’m from Ostwick. Well, the Ostwick Circle, really,” said Gwendolyn.

“Very east. That’s what I thought,” I said.

We traveled up a path that twisted around a hill and came upon a rift just in front of the gates to the forward camp. Soldiers were fighting the demons there, but with little luck. The four of us tipped the scales substantially in our favor, and soon the two waves of demons that poured from the rift were defeated. Gwendolyn closed the rift with her mark as if it were second nature.

“Whatever that thing on your hand is, it’s useful,” I said.

Cassandra barked to the guards, “We’re clear! Open the gates!”

The heavy wooden doors to the bridge opened wide and we were allowed to run through and enter the foreword camp. And I say it was the forward camp, but really it was more like a makeshift field command center on a bridge, complete with stacks of boxes, carts of supplies, soldiers standing around trying not to panic, and a handful of tents. It was a pretty quiet camp, all things considered, with the only real sound coming from the command table over by the tents, where Chancellor Roderick and Sister Nightingale were arguing. They looked up as we approached.

“Ah. Here they come,” sneered the chancellor.

“You made it. Chancellor Roderick, this is—” began Nightingale.

“I _know _who she is. As Grand Chancellor of the Chantry I hereby order you to take this criminal to Val Royeaux to face execution,” declared Chancellor Roderick.

“_You _order _me_?! You are a glorified _clerk_—a bureaucrat,” spat Cassandra in outrage.

“And you are a thug. But a thug who supposedly serves the Chantry,” said the chancellor.

“We serve the Most Holy, Chancellor,” said Leliana. She turned to Cassandra and shot her a meaningful look. “As you well know.”

“Justinia is dead! We must elect her replacement and obey her orders on the matter,” said Chancellor Roderick.

“Isn’t closing the Breach the _slightly_ more pressing issue at the moment?” asked Gwendolyn.

“_You _brought this on us in the first place!” fumed Roderick. “Call a retreat, Seeker. Our position here is hopeless.” 

“We can stop this before it’s too late,” said Cassandra.

“How?” asked Roderick. “You won’t survive long enough to reach the temple, even with all your soldiers.”

“We must get to the temple. It’s the quickest route,” said Cassandra.

“But not the safest. Our forces can charge as a distraction while we go through the mountains,” said Leliana.

“We lost contact with an entire squadron on that path. It’s too risky,” said Cassandra.

“Listen to me. Abandon this now before more lives are lost,” said Roderick.

As if in protest, the Breach flared up again, making Gwendolyn’s mark glow and spark. It lasted only a moment, though, before it all returned to its usual level of crazy.

Cassandra turned to Gwendolyn. “How do _you _think we should proceed?”

There was a brief moment where Gwendolyn looked at Cassandra incredulously, trying to determine what in the world had possessed Cassandra to ask _her _opinion on the subject. But then again, maybe this wasn’t the weirdest thing to happen to her that day. “Now you’re asking _my _opinion?”

“You have the mark,” said Solas.

“And you are the one we must keep alive. Since we cannot agree on our own…” trailed off Cassandra.

It’s not often that you can witness firsthand someone being thrust into a position of authority and leadership entirely against their will and without warning, but damn if that wasn’t exactly what was happening to Gwendolyn Trevelyan at that very moment. And really, there are two types of people when shit like this happens. There are those who cower and flounder, insisting that they want no part in this. And then there are those who roll with it and take responsibility. This girl was the latter. After recovering herself, she straightened her back and summoned all the authority she could muster. Which, mind you, was quite a bit of authority. “I say we charge. I won’t survive long enough to face your trial. Whatever happens, happens now.”

Cassandra nodded in approval before turning to the Nightingale. “Leliana, bring everyone left in the valley. Everyone.”

“On your head be the consequences, Seeker,” spat Roderick as we walked past.

Cassandra’s expression darkened. Gwendolyn rolled her eyes and glanced up at the Breach as we walked, ready to just get this day over with.

And so, the four of us left the forward camp and followed the path up the hill to where the Temple of Sacred Ashes used to be. Or rather, where the ruin of the temple now stood. And understand that I use the word ‘stood’ mostly as a placeholder here. The place wasn’t standing. It was a crumbling ruin, scarcely recognizable for what it once was save the location. Rifts fizzled in the air, stone crumbled all around, the charred remains of the dead were everywhere, what looked like massive chunks of black rock stuck out of the snow at odd angles—it was a mess.

We arrived at the sad excuse for a camp just outside the front entrance to the temple, and the soldiers there were in a clear panic. Fade meteors rained down from above, most of the soldiers were already injured, and the dead were lined up in rows on the ground, a solemn testament to just how bloody this mess had truly become. But we did not dwell in the camp, not when there was a Breach to attend to, and so we pressed on through the front gates.

The main courtyard—or what looked as if it might have once been a main courtyard–had a Fade rift in the middle of it spitting our terrors and demons in droves. A handful of soldiers were battling the demons, with the senior officer battling a nasty looking terror demon. But by now, we were getting pretty good at swooping in and closing Fade rifts, and so that’s what we did. Cassandra rushed to the aid of a soldier fighting a shade, Bianca and I shot up the wraiths, and Solas put barriers around all of us. Gwendolyn hurried forward, froze the terror the commander was fighting in a block of ice, and disrupted the rift.

“How many rifts _are _there?” I asked.

“We must seal it if we are to get past!” called Solas.

“No kidding, Chuckles,” I said.

Another wave of demons burst from the rift, ending the conversation. We were nose deep in demons now, and so the fight resumed, with spells, arrows, and steel flying through the air against claws and other demon-related awfulness. But soon they were defeated, and Gwendolyn closed the rift for good.

“Sealed, as before. You are becoming quite proficient at this,” said Solas, not _entirely _condescendingly.

“I’m a quick study,” said Gwendolyn flatly.

“Let’s hope it works on the big one,” I said.

“Lady Cassandra, you managed to close the rift? Well done,” said the Commander as he approached us.

The Commander had the look of a man who had seen the worst of humanity, yet still had time to style his hair. Commander Cullen, former Knight-Captain and former Knight-Commander of the Kirkwall Templars now led the forces there. Amazing how certain people just keep popping up everywhere, don’t they? But he was no Templar anymore—having traded in his Templar armor for simple plate armor over his chest and arms, vestments of crimson edged in gold, and red and black fur mantle around his shoulders. They called him the Crimson Lion of Honnleath, and in that getup, you understood why. His blonde hair, once curly, now was styled to perfection, his amber eyes scrutinized everything, and that scar just above his lip finished off the look. He was handsome, proud, and an excellent warrior—quitting the Templars might just have been the best thing that had happened to this man so far. And now he commanded the Chantry forces at the Breach. So, you know, maybe not quite the _best_ thing.

“Do not congratulate me, Commander. This is the prisoner’s doing,” said Cassandra as she stepped aside and gestured toward Gwendolyn.

There are some meetings when you just know that something is going to happen—when you can just feel the chemistry click into place and puzzle pieces finding their missing neighbors. There are some meetings that you can feel history being made and some set of cosmic circumstances finally coming to fruition. When great historical figures meet one another, when there’s love at first sight, when there’s a confrontation for the ages, you can see all of that happening.

And then there are some meetings that you look back on and go ‘damn, I would not have expected that’.

Gwendolyn looked at Cullen, who might as well have been wearing a sign that said ‘I am a Templar who does not like mages’ and smiled in her polite ‘I do not trust you for even a second’ smile.

“Is it? I hope they’re right about you. We’ve lost a lot of people getting you here,” said Cullen in his ‘this had better be worth it and don’t you dare make me regret this’ voice.

“I can’t promise anything, but I will certainly try my best,” said Gwendolyn curtly.

“That’s all we can ask,” said Cullen.

The tension in the air was tangible, like invisible lightning sparking between them in a silent standoff.

Cullen tore his eyes away from Gwendolyn’s teal gaze to focus on Cassandra. “The way to the temple should be clear. Leliana will try to meet you there.”

“Then we best move quickly. Give us time, Commander,” said Cassandra.

“Maker watch over you—for all our sakes,” said Cullen.

With that, Cullen left to go help one of his men back to camp and we were walked toward the temple, past the charred, still flaming corpses, and toward the Breach.

“The Temple of Sacred Ashes,” said Solas.

“What’s left of it,” I grumbled.

Cassandra nodded towards a random spot of rubble. “That is where you walked out of the Fade and our soldiers found you. They say a woman was in the rift behind you. No one knows who she was.”

We walked through the ruins, through remnants of hallways and fiery remnants of once great people. And then, we entered the main…Maker only know what the area used to be. The main chamber perhaps? Well, whatever it once was, it sure wasn’t anymore. Now it was a glorified crater surrounded by staircases and balconies with an enormous rift high above the ground and the Breach directly overhead.

In case you were wondering, it was even worse up close.

“The Breach is a long way up,” I said.

Leliana and her scouts chose that moment to arrive.

“You’re here. Thank the Maker,” said Nightingale.

“Leliana, have your men take up positions around the temple,” ordered Cassandra.

Leliana nodded and hurried off with her people.

Cassandra turned her attention to Gwendolyn. “This is your chance to end this. Are you ready?”

“I’ll try. But I don’t know if I can reach that, much less close it,” said Gwendolyn.

“No. This rift was the first, and it is the key,” said Solas. “Seal it, and perhaps we seal the Breach.”

“Then let’s find a way down. And be careful,” said Cassandra.

With that, we began to walk around the edge of the crater in search of a well-placed staircase. But here’s the thing about creepy craters filled with dead people and Fade rifts: weird shit happens.

Here we were walking along, when a deep, chilling disembodied voice echoed through the area. _“Now is the hour of our victory. Bring forth the sacrifice.”_

“What are we hearing?” asked Cassandra uncertainly.

“At a guess? The person who created the Breach,” said Solas.

And then, it got worse. Because in addition to the rocks and ruins, a huge growth of red lyrium was jutting out of the ground. And there was a lot of it.

“You know this stuff is red lyrium, Seeker,” I said.

“I see it, Varric,” said Cassandra tersely.

“But what’s it _doing _here?” I said.

“Magic could have drawn on lyrium beneath the temple, corrupted it…” offered Solas.

“It’s evil. Whatever you do, don’t touch it,” I said.

We kept going, and there was more red lyrium, which really only made matters worse.

“_Keep the sacrifice still_,” boomed the disembodied voice.

Gwendolyn found a staircase.

“_Someone help me!_” cried another disembodied voice, this one old, Orlesian, and female.

“That is Divine Justinia’s voice!” gasped Cassandra.

The staircase ended with a four foot drop off that Gwendolyn took first, landing gracefully on the dirt below. Carefully we approached the rift and Gwendolyn’s hand began to glow angrily along with the increasingly bright and angry rift.

“_Someone help me!_” repeated the Divine’s voice.

“_What’s going on here?_” asked a third voice, this one unmistakably Gwendolyn’s.

“That was your voice. Most Holy called out to you. But…” trailed off Cassandra.

Cassandra didn’t get to finish that thought because the rift chose that moment to flare up and then let out a burst of white light, revealing something that was either a memory or a vision.

_ A translucent Divine floated in the air, arms stretched out and held in place by streams of red magic. A shadowy red and black figure, obscure and undefined in the apparition loomed over her. A much neater looking and entirely confused Gwendolyn opened an unseen door and peered inside. “What’s going on here?”_

_ “Run while you can! Warn them!” called the Divine. _

_ “We have an intruder. Slay the girl,” said the shadowy red and black thing. _

Then the image exploded in a blast of white light, as if nothing had ever happened.

“You _were _there! Who attacked? And the Divine, is she…? Was this vision true? What are we seeing?” demanded Cassandra.

“I don’t remember!” replied Gwendolyn irritably.

“Echoes of what happened here. The Fade bleeds into this place,” said Solas. “This rift is not sealed, but it is closed…albeit temporarily. I believe that with the mark, the rift can be opened, and then sealed properly and safely. However, opening the rift will likely attract attention from the other side.”

“That means demons. Stand ready!” called Cassandra up the soldiers above.

Foot soldiers joined us in the crater along with Leliana and a few archers. The rest of the archers positioned themselves on the upper ledges, arrows trained on the rift. Cassandra looked to Gwendolyn and nodded.

Before she could talk herself out of this, Gwendolyn reached her marked hand up and opened the rift. And of course, because it was just that kind of day, an enormous pride demon immediately shot through. And I don’t know if you’ve ever fought a pride demon before, but let me tell you, they’re nasty things. Enormous, armored, cloaked in lightning with whips of pure energy, these things are beyond deadly. The only good thing? We had Gwendolyn with her mark. And her mark could disrupt the rift. And disrupting the rift threw the pride demon off its game, weakening it temporarily and giving us a fighting chance.

But it would have been just too easy if there was only one demon, after all, so naturally more demons began pouring through the rift to attack us as well. So now we were fighting a true battle, against a pride demon, its lesser colleagues, and the rift itself. It was bloody. It was brutal. If not for Solas and Gwendolyn repeatedly casting barriers over all of us, we’d all probably be dead, but somehow, perhaps through sheer force of will, we defeated the pride demon and the other demons.

“Now! Seal the rift!” called Cassandra.

Gwendolyn nodded, reached up, and used her mark on the rift. The rift was a lot larger than the others before it. It took a lot of energy for Gwendolyn to even close it. But close it she did, and the result was immediate. Closing that rift sent ripple effects upward into the Breach, not sealing it, but at least closing it and stopping it from dropping meteors on all of us. But that happened with a big explosion, and Gwendolyn was thrown backward and knocked unconscious in the process.

\---

What followed next was days of chaos, speculation, and recovery. It passed in a blur of arguments and stress, of the injured being tended to, of assessing damages, and of tensions over the way to move forward. There was something of a controversy, you see, when the mage who fell out of the Fade, helped by a glowing woman in the Fade, then went on to close the Breach, save us all, and still have the audacity to be a mage. People began to call her the Herald of Andraste, for surely the glowing woman in the Fade must have been Andraste herself. Surely the Maker sent Lady Trevelyan to save us all. But oh did the Chantry _not _like that. Never mind that the Chantry teaches us that the Maker abandoned us along ago, but for Andraste to personally support a _mage_? Uh, no. They weren’t having it. Even if the gathered people in Haven all definitely were. But of course, Gwendolyn knew nothing about any of this because she was still unconscious and had been since the Breach was closed. Needless to say, that hadn’t helped things.

Three days after the Breach was closed, Gwendolyn lay in her bed at Haven, wrapped in blankets in a tiny house alone. She opened her eyes groggily and was immediately disoriented, having no idea as to how she got there. Her entire body ached, and her head throbbed, but she was alive, so there was something to be said for that.

She sat up slowly in bed just as the door to her little house opened and an elf girl walked in carrying a box of elfroot. The girl took one look at Gwendolyn, gasped, and dropped the box.

“Oh! I didn’t know you were awake, I swear!” apologized the terrified girl.

“Don’t worry about it. I only—” began Gwendolyn.

The elf girl dropped to her knees and pressed her forehead to the carpet. “I beg your forgiveness and your blessing. I am but a humble servant.”

Gwendolyn slowly got out of bed, wondering what in the world was going on.

“You’re back in Haven, My Lady. They say you saved us. The Breach stopped growing, just like the mark on your hand,” said the girl.

Gwendolyn looked down at her hand, which still was very much glowing, but at least was no longer painful.

“It’s all anyone has talked about for the last three days,” said the girl.

“Then…the danger is over? And…people are pleased?” asked Gwendolyn, still wrapping her head around all of this.

“The Breach is still in the sky, but that’s what they say,” said the elf girl as she got to her feet. “I’m certain Lady Cassandra would want to know you’ve wakened. She said, ‘at once’.”

“And, where is she?” asked Gwendolyn as she stretched and began walking towards the door.

The elf girl stumbled backward toward the door. “In the chantry with the Lord Chancellor. ‘At once’, she said.”

With that, the girl bolted from the house, leaving Gwendolyn standing there as bewildered as ever.

After freshening up and searching about her little house, Gwendolyn located her freshly laundered clothes and changed out of her beige casual wear and into her more familiar attire. In such an alien environment surrounded by strangers and far from the only place she’d ever known, it was comforting to have anything familiar, even if it was just a coat that she happened to bring from Ostwick. 

Her appearance now mildly presentable, Gwendolyn left the warmth of her little house and stepped out into the town of Haven. The elf girl must have told everyone that the Herald was awake, because there was a wall of people on either of the road leading to the chantry, all whispering and staring in awe. Guards stood outside her door and lowered their heads in respect as she left the building. Strangers who had glared at her only days before and looked at her in suspicion now stared in open wonderment and respect as she walked by. It was unnerving. It was strange. And Gwendolyn didn’t quite know how to feel about it.

Up the path, the chantry stood as the only building made of stone and the only one that looked even remotely permanent. It was an imposing sight, yet still small compared to most. It was cold in Haven that day, a fresh snow having fallen the night before, and stepping into the chantry was like being hit by a wall of hot air. Though still not exactly _warm_, the fires along the walls made it decidedly not cold, and that was an improvement. It wasn’t altogether pleasant, to Gwendolyn. She’d always loved the cold and snow, or at least what little of either she’d properly experienced thus far. She had a feeling that time in Haven might change that.

There was really no question as to where the Seeker was, as Gwendolyn moved through the chantry. Despite the occasional sister milling about, the place seemed entirely devoid of life. That is, unless you counted the screaming match that could be heard coming from behind the closed door at the end of the hall. The voices were familiar, and one of them was Cassandra’s, so she took a deep breath and opened the door.

Roderick looked up immediately when she walked in the room and turned to the guards. “Chain her. I want her prepared for travel to the capital for trial.”

Gwendolyn was getting whiplash from the change in atmosphere.

“Disregard that and leave us,” countered the Seeker.

The guards, rightly fearing Cassandra more than Roderick, left the room and closed the door behind them.

“You walk a dangerous line, Seeker,” said Roderick.

“The Breach is stable, but it is still a threat. I will not ignore it,” said Cassandra.

“I did everything I could to close the Breach. And I’m fairly certain it almost killed me,” said Gwendolyn.

“Yet you live! A convenient result, insofar as you’re concerned,” said Roderick.

“Have a care, Chancellor. The Breach is not the only threat we face,” said Cassandra in a measured tone.

“Someone was behind the explosion at the Conclave. Someone Most Holy did not expect,” said Leliana. “Perhaps they died with the others—or have allies who yet live.”

“_I_ am a suspect?!” balked Roderick.

“You. And many others,” snapped Leliana.

“But _not _the prisoner?” gaped Roderick.

“I _heard_ the voices in the temple. The Divine called to her for help,” said Cassandra.

“So her survival, that _thing_ on her hand—all a coincidence?” said Roderick in outrage.

“Providence. The Maker sent her to us in our darkest hour,” said Cassandra.

“You, uh, really think the Maker would send someone like me?” asked Gwendolyn uncertainly.

A lifetime of being told repeatedly by her extremely religious family that she was nothing short of a black stain on the Trevelyan family record seriously begged to differ. She had spent the past twenty years being constantly reminded that her being a mage was the worst conceivable thing she could have done to her family. Years of being told that she was a disappointment, a failure, and that she was little better than their property, not good enough to bare the Trevelyan name—did not lend itself to supporting Cassandra’s words. And yet here was the Right Hand of the Divine saying that she—Gwendolyn Trevelyan—was sent by the Maker to save everyone. Well, if that was true, then someone owed her a serious apology.

“The Maker does as he wills. It is not for me to say,” said Cassandra, in one sentence doing more to support Gwendolyn than her own family had in twenty years.

“Even if that means that a mage is his chosen?” asked Gwendolyn.

“Those without magic are not the only ones with an interest in the fate of the world,” said Cassandra.

“The Breach remains, and your mark is still our only hope of closing it,” said Leliana.

“This is _not _for you to decide,” fumed Roderick.

Cassandra walked over to a nearby table, picked up a book, and slammed the old tome down on the long table in front of them, a chantry symbol on its cover. “You know what this is, Chancellor? A writ from the Divine, granting us the authority to act. As of this moment, I declare the Inquisition reborn. We will close the Breach, we will find those responsible, and we will restore order. With or without your approval.”

Roderick looked between the three women and left the room without saying another word.

Leliana walked over to the book. “This is the Divine’s directive: rebuild the Inquisition of old. Find those who will stand against the chaos. We aren’t ready. We have no leader, no numbers, and now no Chantry support.”

“But we have no choice: we must act now. With you at our side,” said Cassandra, aiming that last bit at Gwendolyn. “This will not be easy if you stay, but you cannot pretend this has not changed you.”

What was there even to say to that? Stay and sort through the mountains of chaos and weird shit that was undoubtedly to come, or run away like a scared child and do _what _exactly? Return to Ostwick and her horrible family or sit idly by why these people struggled against the literal hole in the sky? In what world would she refuse to help them? Certainly not this one.

“If you’re truly trying to restore order…” said Gwendolyn.

“That is the plan,” said Leliana.

Cassandra held out her hand to Gwendolyn. “Help us fix this before it’s too late.”

Gwendolyn didn’t hesitate. She shook Cassandra’s hand firmly and nodded, thereby making the first of many decisions that would change the future of Thedas forever.

\---

Calling the Inquisition was more work than one might have thought. Considering that this was a group of unsupported upstarts, most of whom had never broken a rule in their lives, things were bound to get off to a rocky start. It took days, even just to recruit the top brass. Cassandra and Leliana sent word to dozens of people, searching for aid. They needed a commander. They needed an ambassador. Maker’s Breath, they needed an _inquisitor_. And yet, only some of those things came through. Finding a commander was the easy bit, seeing as they already had Cullen. That decision made itself. For an ambassador, Leliana tracked down an old friend of hers, Lady Josephine Montilyet of Antiva. As for an inquisitor…they had no luck.

In an inquisitor, one might hope to have a hero—someone with experience in leading armies and being a diplomat in times of extreme crisis. And so, who better to call on than Leliana’s best friend in the entire world, the Hero of Ferelden? She was, after all, the one who had defeated the Archdemon during the Fifth Blight, united all of Ferelden, restored order to Orzammar, saved the world multiple times, and became Queen of Ferelden. Who better could there be to handle the latest crisis?

Well, as it turned out, the Hero of Ferelden was unreachable. She’d disappeared almost a year ago now and while Leliana had been in touch with her early on—something about going on a personal quest—now there was no response. A letter to her husband revealed a similar situation with their own correspondence, and King Alistair was, to put it mildly, very worried.

The Hero of Ferelden conclusively _not _able to help, they turned to the second best option: The Champion of Kirkwall. Now, there was nothing hazy or unclear about Hawke’s being alive—she definitely was—but _where _was she? If only her best friend was hanging around Haven, being a prisoner of the Seeker—maybe he would know. But despite the many interrogations the Seeker put me through, my answer was the same: I didn’t know.

And so, much to their collective chagrin, previous heroes were not to be adding another title to their long lists of them. Instead, they were going to have to think of something else. Eventually. Maybe. Just not today.

Leliana sent crows to both the Templars and the mages, based out of Therinfal Redoubt and Redcliffe, asking for their support, only to receive no response. Word was sent everywhere, declaring the Inquisition open and asking for support. New recruits and soldiers began flooding in, asking to join the Inquisition. Blacksmiths and merchants moved in, eager to join in the fray and help out.

A lot happened in the space of a few days, let’s put it that way.

And so, the Inquisition was formed. Soldiers were outfitted with uniforms, banners were made, and Haven was now the formal base of the fledgling Inquisition. It was something to see: Leliana, Cullen, Josephine, and Gwendolyn all standing there on the steps of the chantry as a banner unfurled above the door. Cassandra striding up the stairs to soldiers saluting her. The Inquisition’s leaders established, and history about to be made.


	2. Welcome to Haven

Cassandra and Gwendolyn walked through the chantry in the early evening of the first official day of the Inquisition. They were heading to the first of what promised to be many, many war council meetings, and Gwendolyn was not at all looking forward to it. Cassandra had said that she was to meet the Inquisition leadership, and somehow she just didn’t have a good feeling about that. Being stuffed into a Circle and emotionally abused for most of your life would do that to a person, after all.

“Does it trouble you?” Cassandra asked, nodding towards Gwendolyn’s left hand.

“I’ll be fine,” said Gwendolyn stubbornly. She did not feel fine. Her hand was _glowing_, for goodness sake. How could anyone be fine with that? But she’d be damned before admitting that to anyone.

Cassandra nodded. “What’s important is that your mark is now stable. As is the Breach. You’ve given us time, and Solas believes a second attempt might succeed—provided the mark has more power. The same level of power used to open the Breach in the first place. That is not easy to come by.”

“What harm can there be in powering up something we barely understand?” said Gwendolyn dryly.

“Hold on to _that_ sense of humor,” said Cassandra.

With that, they stepped into the war room, where Leliana, Cullen, and Josephine all stood around the war table, much as they were destined to do for quite some time to come.

Cassandra began the introductions, or at least the formal ones. They’d all met in passing _at least_ once by now.

“You’ve met Commander Cullen, leader of the Inquisition’s forces,” said Cassandra.

“It was only for a moment on the field. I’m pleased you survived,” said Cullen.

Gwendolyn narrowed her eyes at him slightly, cautiously trying to assess if there was genuine concern behind that or a mild threat. After all, in her experience, there were only two kinds of Templars: ones that wanted to kill her, and ones that wanted to see her locked away for the rest of her life. She had yet to decide which kind Cullen was. So far, the fact that he was bothering to look her in the eye didn’t quite put him in either category. She would have to be wary of this one.

“This is Lady Josephine Montilyet, our ambassador and chief diplomat,” continued Cassandra.

“It is a pleasure to meet you, Lady Trevelyan,” said Josephine, polite as always.

“And of course, you know Sister Leliana,” said Cassandra.

“My position here involves a degree of…” trailed off Leliana.

“She is our spymaster,” said Cassandra bluntly.

“Yes. Tactfully put, Cassandra,” said Leliana.

“Pleased to meet you all,” said Gwendolyn, looking mostly at Josephine.

“I mentioned that your mark needs more power to close the Breach for good,” said Cassandra.

“Which means that we must approach the rebel mages for help,” said Leliana.

“And I still disagree. The Templars could serve just as well,” said Cullen.

“We need power, Commander. Enough magic poured into that mark—” began Cassandra.

“Might destroy us all. Templars could suppress the Breach, weaken it so—” started Cullen.

“Pure speculation,” cut in Leliana.

“_I_ was a Templar. I know what they’re capable of,” said Cullen.

Gwendolyn rolled her eyes. She knew what Templars were capable of too. And what rebel mages were capable of. Was there really no way to just avoid both factions? Both were awful. But then again, only one of those factions had _actively_ attempted to murder her thus far, so…

“Unfortunately, neither group will even speak to us yet,” said Josephine, ever the voice of reason. “The Chantry has denounced the Inquisition—and you, specifically.”

“Well, that didn’t take long. Can’t imagine why,” said Gwendolyn dully.

“Shouldn’t they be busy arguing over who’s going to become Divine?” said Cullen.

“Some are calling you—a mage—the ‘Herald of Andraste’. That frightens the Chantry,” said Josephine. “The remaining clerics have declared it blasphemy, and we heretics for harboring you.”

“Chancellor Roderick’s doing, no doubt,” said Cassandra.

“It limits our options. Approaching the mages or Templars for help is currently out of the question,” said Josephine.

“Hold on. Just how am _I_ the ‘Herald of Andraste’?” said Gwendolyn.

“People saw what you did at the temple. How you stopped the Breach from growing. They have also heard about the woman seen in the rift when we first found you. They believe it was Andraste,” said Cassandra.

“Even if we tried to stop that view from spreading,” began Leliana.

“Which we haven’t,” said Cassandra.

“The point is, everyone is talking about you,” said Leliana.

“That’s quite the title, isn’t it? How do you feel about that?” asked Cullen.

“It’s a bit unsettling, don’t you think?” said Gwendolyn.

Cullen chuckled. “I’m sure Chantry would agree.”

Something about that irritated her. Why was he laughing? Why was he agreeing with her? Who gave him permission not to be entire hateable, hmm?

“People are desperate for a sign of hope. For some, you’re that sign,” said Leliana.

“And to others, a symbol of everything that’s gone wrong,” said Josephine.

“They aren’t more concerned about the Breach? The giant hole in the sky that was spewing demons? The real threat?” said Gwendolyn, somehow not _entirely _surprised.

“They do know it’s a threat, they just don’t think _we _can stop it,” said Cullen.

“The Chantry is telling everyone you’ll make it worse,” said Josephine.

“There is something you can do,” said Leliana. “A Chantry cleric by the name of Mother Giselle has asked to speak to you. She is not far and knows those involved far better than I. Her assistance could be invaluable.”

“Why would someone from the Chantry help a declared heretic?” asked Gwendolyn.

“I understand she’s a reasonable sort. Perhaps she does not agree with her sisters?” offered Leliana. “You will find Mother Giselle tending to the wounded in the Hinterlands near Redcliffe.”

“Look for other opportunities to expand the Inquisition’s influence while you are there,” said Cullen.

“We need agents to extend our reach beyond the valley, and you’re better suited than anyone to recruit them,” said Josephine.

“In the meantime, let’s think of other options. I won’t leave this all to the Herald,” said Cassandra.

Scouting options were discussed, Leliana’s people were ordered to be dispatched, and the meeting was disbanded. And so ended the first of what was to be many, many, _many _war table meetings.

\---

Gwendolyn Trevelyan awoke the next morning in an excellent mood. She’d spent so long cooped up in the that tower that waking up to something other than a Templar yelling at her or her roommate having a night terror was a novel experience. It was an odd feeling, being free. Certainly she wasn’t _free_ exactly. The Inquisition already boasted a number of Templar defectors, after all, but she wasn’t in a Circle tower and no one with the last name Trevelyan was likely even _in _Ferelden at the moment. Even surrounded by a group of relative strangers who all seemed to think that she was Andraste’s chosen and even though the world might as well have been ending, she still was happier than she’d ever been in Ostwick.

She got dressed that morning in the new clothes the Haven blacksmith had shoved at her the day before—Harritt, she was sure his name had been. He’d gone on something of a rant about Ferelden being cold and the Herald of Andraste needing better protection against the elements before dumping a high-quality short enchanter’s coat and other mage-friendly clothes on her. She had no idea how the man had known her measurements or why he’d decided that she would want a tunic in ring velvet the same shade as her eyes, but she couldn’t say she was upset about it. The ring velvet and grey fennec coat proved to be infinitely better against the elements than anything she’d brought with her from Ostwick. She’d been reluctant to give up her clothes from before, but now…now it seemed right. This was a new beginning for her, after all. And new beginnings warranted a new wardrobe.

It was going to take a while for Leliana’s people to scout out the Hinterlands, so in the meantime, she was free to explore Haven. Even for a small town, to her, it seemed big—open. The lack of a sprawling metropolis was far less of a concern, but the lack of stairs and confining stone walls was a welcome change. How long had she spent staring out her window back in Ostwick, dreaming of the lives the passersby below might have been living? How often had she wondered what it might be like to be one of them? Complete free of the Circle Tower’s confines, free to love and be loved, to choose her own destiny and travel the world. It seemed her entire life had been spent wondering what the world was like outside of the Tower. But now? Now was her chance. Now she could actually see the world—see and experience all that life had to offer.

Gwendolyn—sheltered Circle mage finally let loose on an unsuspecting town—was absolutely thrilled. And by all means, with many other mages, it could have been chaos. But Gwendolyn wasn’t the type of mage who immediately set to world domination and blood magic when let loose. No, she just wanted to see what the inside of a tavern looked like and stretch her arms without hitting a stone wall. It was the little things, really.

Her day was not entirely without structure, however. The Seeker had given her a list of duties to attend to around Haven, but even that was an improvement in Gwendolyn’s mind. Anything to be useful and not trapped inside a tower with her brother looming over her shoulder. Marker’s Breath, she was so glad to be away from him. She still had nightmares about that day.

Her first stop, according to the detailed list she’d been handed, was the requisition officer, Threnn.

“All mage recruits must report to Commander Cullen or Seeker Pentaghast before assignment,” said Threnn.

Gwendolyn wasn’t sure which was worse: being mistaken for a random apostate or being told to report to _Cullen_. She held up her glowing left hand. “Really?”

“Oh! My Lady Herald! I had not realized. My apologies. Have you come to inspect the requisitions?” asked Threnn nervously.

“There was something about weapons?” said Gwendolyn, glancing down at the parchment.

“Yes, My Lady. Harritt has requested better materials for weapons to outfit the soldiers. We already have the iron taken care of, but we need someone to mark a logging site nearby,” said Threnn.

This seemed…a strange assignment, but she wasn’t about to complain. “I’ll take care of it.”

“Thank you, My Lady,” said Threnn.

Gwendolyn nodded and walked away. The requisitions tent was right beside Leliana’s spy headquarters (read: tent), so she decided to check up on her too.

Nightingale was praying by a makeshift shrine in the corner and looked up when Gwendolyn entered the tent.

“Are you okay?” asked Gwendolyn in concern.

“I was praying for Most Holy. She was the Maker’s most loyal servant, and yet she was taken from us. You speak for Andraste; how could this happen?” demanded Leliana.

Gwendolyn—who in no way felt that she spoke for Andraste—took a moment to formulate a reply. “I don’t know any more than you do.”

“No, I suppose you would not. Perhaps in time, we will know more,” said Leliana.

“If there’s anything I can do…” said Gwendolyn.

“No, I can handle things. I regret that I even let you see me like this,” said Leliana, now all business.

Gwendolyn, ice mage, was not accustomed to getting such a cold shoulder. “Oh. Um, okay. I’ll leave you to your work then.”

Leliana seemed to realize how she was being received. “I do not mean to be so crass. That is usually Cassandra’s territory. Was there something you needed?”

“Not really. I just thought that since we’re going to be working together, I should get to know you a bit better,” said Gwendolyn.

She reminded Leliana of an old friend, one who she was desperately worried for, who too had once shown such interest and sympathy. “What is it you wish to know?”

Gwendolyn shrugged. She hadn’t thought that far ahead. “I don’t know, to be honest. I know you’re an Orlesian bard and the Left Hand of the Divine, but other than that…”

“Then you already know much that there is,” said Leliana.

“Well, how did you become Left Hand of the Divine? How does that happen exactly? Is there a job application?” asked Gwendolyn.

“I was trained as a spymaster from a very young age, then worked for a time as a lay sister in a small chantry in Lothering just before the Blight. The Hero of Ferelden recruited me as the Blight began and I gained recognition when I stood with her against the Archdemon in Denerim. From there, I moved swiftly through the ranks until Most Holy appointed me her Left Hand,” said Leliana.

Gwendolyn’s jaw nearly hit the ground. “You _knew _the Hero of Ferelden? You were there when she slew the Archdemon?!”

“Indeed I was. She is one of my closest friends and one of the few whom I trust completely,” said Leliana fondly. Her smile grew worried. “She disappeared some time ago and I have not heard from her in months. Even Alistair cannot contact her anymore, and they were always in constant communication. I pray nothing has happened to her.”

Gwendolyn suddenly felt wildly underqualified to be talking to Leliana. “If she could slay an Archdemon, I’m sure she’s all right.”

“Flora is a survivor, to be sure. I’ve seen her literally laugh in the face of danger. And yet, with all that is happening, I cannot help but worry for her. It is more than likely that she is simply too busy to respond or is somewhere unreachable,” said Leliana.

“All right. Well, I’ve probably taken up too much of your time already. I’ll let you get back to work,” said Gwendolyn.

Leliana nodded politely and returned to the table of documents in the corner of the tent.

Barring the real potential for a national and personal tragedy with the Hero of Ferelden being missing, Gwendolyn couldn’t help but wonder at the people she was now associated with. The Left Hand of the _Divine _was talking to her. The Left Hand of the Divine who casually name dropped the Hero of Ferelden and King Alistair in conversation. Who had also helped to slay the Archdemon. Casual.

Now thoroughly intimidated by the spymaster, Gwendolyn moved on down her list of duties. She was to visit the alchemist and check up on something for him. All right. Easy enough. The alchemist was on the other side of town, past the tavern and a few houses. She poked her head in the tavern, just to see what it was like, and couldn’t help but be fascinated. Bustling with people, loud as could be, warm for all the bodies, and reeking of ale and wine. A minstrel in the corner was singing _Empress of Fire _over the ruckus as a soldier chatted up the barmaid. It was something else.

Before she spent more time ogling the tavern and all its foreign wonders, Gwendolyn left and walked down the path to the alchemist’s shop, passing Solas and nodding to him as she did. She wasn’t quite certain why, but Solas was a little off putting for her. Maybe it was his ever present calm or the way he seemed to look at everything as if he was seeing through it. Or maybe it was because he spoke as if he were centuries old and acted like he knew everything. Or maybe it was just because he seemed to exclusively discuss the Fade and the Breach and actively thinking about either made her head hurt. No matter the reason, Gwendolyn felt antsy around him, and that alone was reason alone not to dwell.

She knew better than most that if you were in any sort of a rush, it was best just to nod and keep walking. Solas, for all his brilliance, was not one for short explanations. A brief question from Gwendolyn on how he had helped with the mark on her hand had somehow devolved into a full on academic debate regarding whether spirits were people, the Fade, Solas’s apparent dream walking, and even a colorful account of how Solas had once dreamed at Ostagar and seen both sides of that particular conflict. It was not a mistake that Gwendolyn was likely to repeat again.

The apothecary, Adan, was arguing with a messenger when she entered his quiet little shop, alchemy supplies, herbs, and potions strewn about the room and arranged on shelves. She cleared her throat in hopes that he would notice her.

The messenger took his leave, heading back to go tell the local merchant something about the price of elfroot.

“So, you’re finally awake, are you? Didn’t think you’d ever wake up,” said Adan.

“I had heard that you tended to me. Thank you, for that,” said Gwendolyn.

He waved it away. “You wouldn’t thank me if you knew how close you came to dying a few times. Anyway, you here on business?”

She nodded. “I was told to come see you about recipes or notes or something?”

“Master Tagan’s notes. He was killed during the attacks, but he was on the verge of a breakthrough with some of his potions, and his notes should be around here somewhere. If I had the time, I’d go myself, but there are more than enough requisitions for health potions that I need to tend to. Tagan had a little house out in the wood. His notes might be there,” said Adan.

“I’ll see to it right away,” said Gwendolyn.

“Maker bless you,” said Adan.

Gwen made a note on her parchment and left the apothecary, head down and considering how she’d ended up searching for logging sites and lost notes in the woods with a hole in the sky. Was this her life now? Menial tasks and the end of the world?

She passed me then, head down and consulting the poorly drawn map she’d sketched on the back of her parchment.

“You doing okay there, Princess?” I called to her.

Gwendolyn looked around in surprise and realized that I was the one who was talking to her. “Cassandra has me running errands.”

“I’m sure she does. Be glad you slept through the first few days. She was boiling,” I said.

Gwendolyn grimaced. “I have a feeling she does that a lot.”

“How are you holding up? This shit would be weird for anyone, even if they didn’t have a glowing hand and walk out of the Fade,” I said.

“I’m doing my best not to think about. At all. Actively. This isn’t really what I intended when I said that I wanted to see the world, but I’ll take it for the moment,” said Gwendolyn.

“Hold onto that. I have a feeling that shit is only going to get weirder from here. That red lyrium at the temple worries me. What is even doing here? How did it get here? Red lyrium was only in Kirkwall, last I checked. How did it end up all the way in Ferelden?” I said.

“What is it, exactly? Just another type of lyrium?” she asked curiously.

“The red stuff is lyrium like a dragon is a lizard. It does weird things to people. Drives them mad. Makes them do things. All I know is that it’s trouble and finding this much of it here…is worrying,” I said.

“I’m sure it’s no coincidence that it was at the temple, then. Maybe they’re connected in some way?” said Gwendolyn.

“If you find the time, maybe look into it. Even if it’s not related to the Breach, no one needs another Knight-Commander Meredith on their hands,” I said.

“You were there, right? With the Champion of Kirkwall? When all of that happened?” asked Gwendolyn.

“Sure was. Just ask Cassandra; she sure interrogated me about it enough,” I said.

“What was that even _like_?” asked Gwendolyn in awe.

“It was a lot. I even wrote a book about it, which I’m guessing you haven’t read,” I said.

“Shockingly, books regarding mages blowing up chantries and staring rebellions are not permitted in otherwise stable Circles,” said Gwendolyn.

“What a surprise,” I said.

“I can’t imagine how chaotic things must have been,” she said.

“They still are. It’s going to take…a while to rebuild,” I said.

“I’m sorry, Varric. I’ve read _Hard in Hightown_ and a few other of your stories. It’s clear that you love your city. I’m so sorry that that happened,” she said.

“Don’t worry about it. You have more than enough to worry about with the hole in the sky without adding the current state of infrastructure in Kirkwall,” I said.

“All right, then. I should get going before Cassandra finds me and yells at me for not doing this. I’ll talk to you later,” she said.

“You know where I’ll be,” I said.

With that, Gwendolyn continued on through the village, leaving through the front gates to the outer part of the village where the blacksmith and training grounds all were. Cassandra was in the process of slashing a practice dummy to bits and Cullen was there overseeing training, barking orders and issuing commands. Templars milled about, helping with training, and even from a distance she could hear someone saying something about the mage rebellion.

Given that the very prospect of being near _any _of them terrified her, Gwendolyn opted to go talk to the blacksmith, seeing as that was on the list anyway. Blacksmiths were hard at word hammering out steel as Harritt—the head blacksmith—supervised.

The bald man with a bushy mustache looked up as she walked over. “My Lady Herald, there you are. How’s the new armor treating you?”

“Nice and warm, thank you,” said Gwendolyn happily.

“Good. Can’t have you walking around in inferior armor. The forge is at your disposal if you ever need anything. Can’t just slap a new pommel on a sword in the field, you know what I mean? You need anything improved, you just bring it here and I’ll take care of it for you. And if you find some new schematics in your travels, I’ll be happy to take a look at them,” said Harritt.

“Wow, thank you,” said Gwendolyn.

“Only the best for our Lady Herald. You take care of the hole in the sky and we’ll take care of you,” said Harritt.

“Thank you,” said Gwendolyn.

Harritt nodded.

Having met the blacksmith, Gwen glanced down at her list. Damn it all, she needed to go to the forest now. And how did one get to the forest? By taking the path. Which was on the other side of the training grounds. Which meant an inevitable confrontation with Cassandra and Cullen. Wonderful.

Of the two, Cassandra was somehow the least imposing, even if she did seem a bit as if she punched wyverns in the face for sport. She decided to speak to her first.

“Morning, Cassandra,” said Gwendolyn pleasantly.

“Herald. How are your duties progressing?” asked Cassandra.

“I’m off to go locate a logging site. Apparently,” said Gwendolyn.

“Odd, yet necessary, I suppose,” said Cassandra as she stowed her sword at her side. “It occurs to me that we know very little about you.”

Gwendolyn was not accustomed to that question being turned around on her. Really, there felt as if there was little to know. Her life had been exceedingly dull until extremely recently. “What do you wish to know?”

“Where are you from?” asked Cassandra.

“Ostwick. Well, the Ostwick Circle of Magi, to be more accurate. They sent me to the Conclave as their representative, seeing as my family is noble and I have relatives who are Templars and clerics,” Gwendolyn said.

“And is that home for you? Ostwick?” asked Cassandra.

“Home is wherever I am,” said Gwendolyn.

Cassandra nodded. “I feel quite the same way, especially after becoming the Right Hand of the Divine. Do you think that you will be returning there once this is all over?”

“No. If I never return to Ostwick, it will be too soon,” said Gwendolyn bitterly.

Cassandra must have seen something in Gwendolyn that she related to, in that. After all, the Seeker knew a thing or two about having a shitty family life.

“Where do you stand on the mage rebellion?” asked Cassandra.

“I think that killing each other and fighting a war that neither side can win is pointless and does nothing to endear either side to anyone,” said Gwendolyn.

“Then we are quite in agreement. They are too busy fighting each other to care about anything other than themselves, never mind the Breach,” spat Cassandra. “I wonder if the Conclave would have even succeeded. Do you recall if there was a sense that a truce might be reached?”

“I remember tensions being extremely high, but little else. Everyone blamed everyone else for everything that happened and refused to assume responsibility. The mages refused to address the fact that blood magic is inherently _bad_, the Templars refused to accept that mages are people who maybe potentially should have rights and not be made tranquil for breathing the wrong way—you get the picture,” said Gwendolyn.

“Then it was failed from the start. But if we cannot stop this war between them, we stand little chance of closing the Breach,” said Cassandra.

“I’m not sure my being part of the Inquisition helps us in that department. Somehow, I doubt Templars will trip over themselves to help a mage with a mysteriously glowing hand,” said Gwendolyn.

“And yet we have Templars among our ranks. Even if the Herald of Andraste does not persuade them to join, we do have Commander Cullen, who you will recall used to be a Templar and is well respected among them,” said Cassandra.

“So I’ve noticed,” said Gwendolyn.

“You do not have a problem with each other, do you?” asked Cassandra, eyeing her suspiciously.

“That depends on whether he’s the ‘kill all the mages’ type of Templar or the ‘maybe mages are people too’ kind of Templar,” said Gwendolyn.

Cassandra glanced at the fairly recent, nasty looking scar that ran vertically across Gwendolyn’s left eye and seemed to realize how it may have come to be there. “Perhaps you ought to speak with him.”

“Or perhaps I should go find this logging site,” said Gwendolyn.

The Seeker’s gaze was all but lethal and her tone left no room for argument. “Speak with him.”

Gwendolyn looked a bit as if she would rather single handedly take on the Breach but couldn’t exactly argue with the Seeker.

“You there! There’s a shield in your hand. Block with it! If this man were your enemy, you’d be dead,” barked Cullen, in that moment seeming more mabari than lion, but either way like he could bite your head off with ease. He turned to his lieutenant, another ex-Templar. “Lieutenant, don’t hold back. The recruits must prepare for a real fight, not a practice one.”

“Yes, Commander,” said the lieutenant with a salute before walking off to tend to training.

As Gwendolyn approached him, feeling like a foreigner in a training ground, he crossed her arms and glanced her way. “We’ve received a number of recruits—locals from Haven and some pilgrims. None made _quite _the entrance you did.”

“At least I got everyone’s attention,” said Gwendolyn.

“That you did,” said Cullen with a chuckle as he began to walk through the training grounds, bidding Gwendolyn to follow and keep up with his long strides. “I was recruited to the Inquisition from Kirkwall, myself. I was there during the mage uprising—I saw firsthand the devastation it caused.”

“Ser!” called a messenger as he ran over to him with paperwork.

Gwendolyn wondered if this was the part where he told her that she was an abomination who needed to be made tranquil and then demanded to know where her phylactery was.

Cullen took the paperwork and signed it and kept talking, oblivious to Gwendolyn’s inner turmoil. “Cassandra sought a solution. When she offered me a position, I left the Templars to join her cause. Now it seems we face something far worse.”

“Well, I must have this mark for a reason, right? It’ll work. I’m sure of it. It has to,” said Gwendolyn with confidence she did not feel.

“Provided we can secure aid—but I’m confident we can,” said Cullen.

He practically oozed confidence, so Gwendolyn wasn’t surprised.

“The Chantry lost control of both Templars and mages. Now they argue over a new Divine while the Breach remains. The Inquisition could act when the Chantry cannot. Our followers would be part of that. There’s so much we can—forgive me. I doubt you came here for a lecture,” said Cullen.

He seemed fed up with his old order and with the Chantry. And he was speaking to her without making threats against her person or warning her to remain in sight of Templars at all times. So…maybe he really wasn’t all that bad.

“Perhaps not, but if you have one prepared, I’d love to hear it,” said Gwendolyn.

Cullen’s smirk was devastating and he rubbed the back of his neck. “Yes, well, another time, perhaps. There’s still a lot of work ahead.”

Another messenger chose that moment to interrupt. “Commander! Ser Rylen has a report on our supply lines.”

Cullen looked at her with an easy, confident smile, as he took the clipboard from the messenger. “As I was saying.”

As Cullen walked away to attend to his many duties, Gwendolyn couldn’t decide what to do about him. Was he friend or foe? What was his opinion on mage rights? Did he blame all mages for the destruction of Kirkwall? Just how justified would he be if he did? And more importantly, who gave this man permission to be both devastatingly attractive and reassuringly confident? That damn smirk of his—she couldn’t decide what she wanted to do about that, but smack it off his stupid handsome templar face seemed like a viable option.

Leaving behind the walking ethical dilemma with nice hair, Gwendolyn headed up the path into the woods. She’d never been in a proper forest like this before. The smell of pine and elfroot was overwhelming in the best possible way and something about it just felt…peaceful. Nugs skittered through the snow, fennec hopped along, and sunlight filtered through the trees above. The snow crunched beneath her boots as she walked by, otherwise untouched by anyone. Here in the woods, it was perhaps the only time in recent memory that she had been truly alone, with no roommate to keep her company or guards to watch her every move. It was freeing in ways she could not even begin to describe.

The little cabin Adan had mentioned was easy enough to locate, sitting just a way down the forest trail. It was a quaint little thing, but there were no locks to speak of. Everything in the little house lay abandoned, untouched and waiting for an owner that would never return. It all seemed very still and very calm, if a little sad. The notes were right where one might expect notes to be, sitting on the little desk by a long-extinguished candle. She gathered them up in a neat little stack and went on her way.

The logging site proved more difficult to locate. To begin, she had no idea what a logging site looked like and didn’t particularly know where to look for one. Added to that was the sudden addition of rams and druffalo, which only made Gwendolyn nervous. She’d never seen real wild animals up close before—certainly not huge ones like the druffalo. She didn’t know how they’d react to her as a human, never mind how her being a mage might affect them. She didn’t think she wanted to deal with that. But oh goodness were they big.

It took some time to skirt the edges of the forest, giving the druffalo a wide berth, before she located what looked not entirely unlike a logging site. At the very least there were stacks of lumber and fallen trees, and that seemed like it fit the bill. She marked it on her map and began the trek back to Haven.

She hadn’t realized how far away from town she’d gotten until she actually got back to town and it was late afternoon. How had she spent all afternoon in the woods? How did this happen?

Recruits were still training, and Cullen was still supervising when she emerged from the woods carrying paperwork and her terrible map.

“There you are. I was beginning to think we needed to send out a search party,” said Cullen as she walked by.

Gwendolyn stiffened. Was…was he keeping track of her movements or something? “Yes, well, logging sites don’t find themselves, do they? And there are _druffalo_ in those woods. Druffalo!”

Cullen raised an eyebrow. “So there are.”

That was not a satisfactory reaction. “They’re huge! And there are so many of them!”

“Have you never seen a druffalo before?” he asked in reply.

“Believe it or not, we don’t _have _druffalo in the Ostwick Circle…so no,” she replied irritably.

“That must have been quite the shock then,” said Cullen.

She was convinced that he was mocking her. There was no other explanation. “Since when are they so huge?! And they kept staring at me! And there were rams too and they kept running away from me.”

“I have some bad news for you about your trip into the Hinterlands, then,” said Cullen in amusement.

Gwendolyn made a face.

“And you do realize that druffalo are peaceful animals, yes? They’re more afraid of you than you are of them,” said Cullen.

“What else is new?” grumbled Gwendolyn as she walked away.

Adan was still busy at work when Gwendolyn came into his shop.

“You found the notes!” he said in surprise.

“I did. They were right where you said they’d be,” said Gwendolyn.

“I’m surprised you found them at all. Thank you, My Lady. If you ever need any of these made, just let me know and I’ll get to it right away,” said Adan.

“Thank you,” said Gwendolyn.

She headed up towards the chantry to the requisition tent where Threnn was arguing about injustice the local merchant was paying the Inquisition. She pulled herself away from the messenger to focus on Gwendolyn.

“Any news, My Lady?” she asked.

Gwendolyn presented Threnn with the map where she’d marked the logging site. “I found you your logging site. That should help, right?”

“Oh, indeed, My Lady. I’ll let Harritt know right away that he’ll have his weapons in no time,” said Threnn.

Her list of tasks having been accomplished, Gwendolyn decided to go see if Cassandra had anything else for her to do, only to be stopped by Leliana. “Herald. If you have a moment, Josephine wished to speak to you about something. She should be in her office.”

Gwendolyn nodded and headed inside.

The chantry was just as solemn and unwelcoming as it had been before. Herald of Andraste though she may have been dubbed, she did not feel like it. She felt like an outcast and unwelcome addition. Everyone else seemed to have a job to do and a place to be and she was just…there. Oh, certainly she had the glowing hand that theoretically could seal the Breach, but other than that, what was she? A runaway who’d had the bad luck to be in the wrong place at the wrong time? The necessary evil who they had performing trivial errands just to keep out of trouble?

Josephine was not difficult to find. All she had to do was follow the sound of an Orlesian complaining.

“Our family has held claim to this land for generations. We leased it to Divine Justinia for the Conclave, but unless you can provide proof that this Inquisition was formed under the Divine’s direct orders, I must ask you to leave,” demanded the Orlesian nobleman.

Josephine’s eyes glittered like angry opals. “The Inquisition was founded by the Left and Right Hands of Divine Justinia on her orders. The faithful flock here under the Inquisition’s protection while the Chantry does nothing but argue over the next Divine.”

“The Chantry is not taking care of them? They have abandoned the faithful?” asked the nobleman.

“They have, and so we are doing what the Chantry refuses to or will not do,” said the ambassador.

The nobleman mulled this over for a while before sighing in resignation. “I suppose you may be allowed to stay, at least for a time.”

“Thank you, Marquis. We will be in touch,” said Josephine politely.

The nobleman left the office, painted mustache all but twitching.

“So…_does _the marquis own Haven?” asked Gwendolyn.

“His wife’s family has a claim through her Ferelden family, but they are Orlesian nobility, and thus their claim is strongly contested,” said Josephine as she walked back around her desk to sit in her throne-like chair.

“Well, it’s a good thing we have you to take handle such things,” said Gwendolyn.

Josephine smiled politely. “Thank you, My Lady. Now, to business. As you know we need allies, and as ambassador, it is part of my job to search for them among the nobility. Your title has granted us some legitimacy, but not as much as we would have hoped. You are a Trevelyan, yes? The Montilyets and the Trevelyans have had quite the long friendship through the years. Yet, I cannot recall seeing you at any of the fetes I have attended.”

“I don’t get out much,” said Gwendolyn.

“Ah, yes, well, that would do it. Tell me, My Lady, as I begin recruiting allies, would it be beneficial to contact the Trevelyans?” asked Josephine.

How to put this lightly…

“My family and I are…not on the best of terms. Best not to involve them. It may cause more harm than good,” said Gwendolyn.

“Oh. I am sorry, I did not know. I am sorry to hear that, My Lady. I will not write to them, then. How are you finding Haven?” asked Josephine.

“How are _you _finding it?” asked Gwendolyn in reply.

“It is…not terrible. Except for the cold. And the animals. And the lack of sturdy buildings. And the lack of civilization for miles around,” said Josephine.

“I don’t mind it really. Although I may agree with you about the wildlife bit,” said Gwendolyn.

“This must be quite the change for you, coming from a Circle. If I may ask, Ostwick’s Circle had a reputation for being rather sedate. Is that how you found it?” asked Josephine.

“Oh, it wasn’t…terrible. I suppose. I was allowed to go home on occasion, which is certainly not the norm in other Circles,” said Gwendolyn.

Josephine was shocked. “You were? However did you manage it?”

“The templars were handsomely paid by the Trevelyan family and my brother is the Knight-Captain there. The seventh most powerful family in Ostwick is the first most powerful family with regards to the Chantry and Circle there. What my father wanted done typically got done, regardless if it would be standard practice in other Circles,” said Gwendolyn bitterly.

The ambassador had a strong feeling that she had inadvertently touched on a truly sore subject. “Well, then they are lucky that Seeker Cassandra never visited, for she would never have stood for such things.”

“If only. I would pay good money to see some of them on the receiving end of her wrath,” said Gwendolyn dully. “Was there anything else you wished to discuss?”

“No, My Lady. I will let you return to your duties. I have detained you long enough,” said Josephine.

Gwendolyn nodded and left the room. A sister shot her a scathing look as she left the chantry, but she did her best to ignore it. As she was leaving the chantry, Threnn called out to her.

“My Lady Herald! If you have a moment, I have a favor to ask,” said Threnn.

“What is it?” Gwendolyn asked.

Threnn handed her a bit of parchment with a list of herbs on it. “The healers need more supplies, but there’s no one to fetch them. If you have the time, might you look out for them?”

This was getting insulting, but it’s not as if she had anything better to do than gather elfroot in the woods.

“Of course. If it helps,” said Gwendolyn.

“Oh, thank the Maker. Here, you’ll be needing this,” said Threnn as she stuffed a basket at Gwendolyn.

Gwendolyn smiled tightly and went on her way, passing me as she headed out to the woods.

“More thrilling errands to run, Princess?” I asked.

Gwendolyn gave me a look that perfectly encapsulated how a senior enchanter from a noble family felt about collecting herbs when there was a hole in the sky to deal with.

She once more walked past the training grounds, hoping that certain ex-templars would keep their opinions for themselves.

“Best watch out for the druffalo, Herald,” said Cullen as she walked past.

Gwendolyn shot him a scathing look before heading out into the forest.

“You do not endear yourself to her by mocking her so,” said Cassandra.

Cullen raised an eyebrow and glanced over at her. “I fear that I am unlikely to be endeared to her regardless.”

“She is a Circle mage with reason to fear templars. You must assure her that you are not to turn her tranquil for a small infraction,” said Cassandra.

“Maker’s Breath, I left the order for a reason. The Herald has nothing to fear from me,” frowned Cullen.

“You have noticed her scar, no doubt? How do you think she came upon it while living in a Circle tower?” asked Cassandra.

“I have been perfectly civil, as has she,” frowned Cullen.

“And you had best keep it that way. A mage and a templar showing support for one another may do wonders for support for our cause,” said Cassandra.

“As I said, we have been civil,” said Cullen.

“Then keep it that way,” said Cassandra.


	3. The Path to Isolation

It had been only a few days since the Inquisition had been formally started when Nightingale called a War Council meeting late at night, as most were intending to bed down for the night.

“Leliana, what is this about?” demanded Cassandra.

“Should we not wait for the Herald before we begin?” asked Josephine.

“She _is _quite a vital part of this operation,” agreed Cullen.

“No. She is why we are here. My agents have just provided me with the full intelligence report that I ordered on her and as the Inquisition command, it is critical that you all know who it is that we have placed all of our faith in,” said Leliana.

“Maker’s Breath is she a secret maleficar that you are making such a fuss?” asked Cullen.

Leliana’s expression softened considerably. “No. Far from it. But you may come to understand why she is so fearful of you, Commander. And why she was so adamant that you not write to her family, Josie.”

“Out with it,” snapped Cassandra.

Leliana stood, hands behind her back, and summarized the report for them. “Lady Gwendolyn Weiss Trevelyan is the third child of Bann Trevelyan of Ostwick. She came into her magic at only five years old, much to the displeasure of her family, who had sought to marry her off to the Prince of Starkhaven—”

“Five years old? But that is so young,” gasped Josephine.

“Her and Sebastian Vael?” said Cullen, finding it to be one of the worst conceivable pairings he could imagine.

Leliana shot hard looks at both of them and continued. “She was sent to live in the Ostwick Circle and placed under constant supervision at the insistence of the Trevelyan family. The Trevelyans make considerable donations to the Chantry and have been paying off the Templars at the Ostwick Circle ever since she was delivered to them.”

Cassandra made a disgusted noise.

“She grew up extremely sheltered within the Circle, isolated from most of the other mages and engaged in constant study of magic. First Enchanter Lydia in the Circle oversaw most of her education and served as both a mentor and surrogate mother to her. She was kept separate from the other mages but was allowed to leave when the Trevelyans bid her to. When they did, it was not out of kindness, but out of utility. Having a mage in the family and using her to their advantage at key times allowed the Trevelyans to amass greater wealth and rise in Ostwick’s social circles, allowing them greater reach outside of Ostwick and the Free Marches.

“The arrangement brewed resentment from both sides. The nobility of Ostwick could not stand her, as she is a mage, and the mages within the Circle loathed her for the perceived benefits she received from her family. She had very few friends, having been shunned by most of the mages at the Circle for her family and the Knight-Captain’s interference. The only real friend she’s reported to have had was an elf named Maxine who she shared a room with in her teenage years. Maxine was a seer, and thus also shunned to the fringes of the mage social circles, if you will.

“Of her two older brothers, the eldest has been groomed as his father’s successor and bares no great love for his sister. If anything, much as his parents, he views her as a tool or a pet to be used to achieve an end. Her second brother, five years her senior, is a templar—Knight-Captain Cador Trevelyan,” continued Leliana.

“Cador’s her brother? Maker’s Breath, no wonder she’s suspicious of templars,” said Cullen.

“You know of him?” said Leliana.

“His reputation precedes him. From what I’ve heard, he has a predilection towards unnecessary cruelty and violence. The type that kicks stray cats, if you will,” said Cullen.

“Mostly towards his sister, I’m afraid. He has been the Knight-Captain of the Ostwick Circle for several years now and has personally ensured that the Herald’s life within the Circle was kept in strict order and in line with the Trevelyan family’s best interests.

“When the Circles fell, there became four factions within the Ostwick Circle—the Templars and mages who each wished to fight, and the Templars and mages who wanted no part of the war and wished to remain neutral. Though typically quiet and largely uneventful, the Ostwick Circle became a battleground for a day. Rebel mages and Templars killed anyone and everyone who opposed them. First Enchanter Lydia was slain by a student of hers who had become an abomination, who was then slain by a templar. Though there are few details, it is known that the Herald’s friend, Maxine, was killed by Knight-Captain Cador. Presumably sometime after that, there was something of a standoff between the Herald and her brother during which the Herald nearly froze the entire Circle tower, and she escaped with the other neutral mages of the Ostwick Circle. It was later decided that Lady Trevelyan would be the one to attend the Conclave on behalf of the neutral mages of the Ostwick Circle, and so here we are,” finished Leliana.

“How terrible,” said Josephine, in shock.

“Corrupt templars, interfering politicians—it is despicable,” spat Cassandra.

“Given her background, it is extremely unlikely that she will willingly assist in the recruitment of the templars to our cause and it will be much more beneficial to turn to the mages for assistance,” said Leliana.

“This again? The templars are still our best option. They can suppress the magic of the Breach—” began Cullen.

“Her brother remains the Knight-Captain of Ostwick and has her phylactery. His devotion to the Order borders on fanaticism. Even without the Herald’s inevitable preference for the mages, the templars will undoubtedly trust their own over her. And Knight-Captain Cador is unlikely to spread kind words of his sister’s character,” said Leliana.

Cullen remained unconvinced.

“Do you think he will pose a problem?” asked Cassandra.

“Even if influential ears hear his complaints, the ravings of a templar against a mage, no matter their familial relation, will be seen as just that,” said Josephine.

“That is not what I meant. The Inquisition does not need an angry templar showing up to attempt to detain the Herald,” said Cassandra.

“She is under the protection of the Inquisition and he will have no authority here, even if he does show his face in Haven,” said Cullen.

“Regardless, it is something to consider moving forward,” said Leliana.

\---

It had been a few days now and Gwendolyn had performed enough trivial, menial tasks around Haven that it had given her time to mull over her situation. Josephine was impossible not to like, being eternally polite and understanding. Part of the job, undoubtedly, but still nice. Leliana scared the shit out of Gwendolyn. Never mind the fact that she could kill someone without a second thought and controlled a truly terrifying number of spies, the fact that she had helped to kill an _Archdemon…_ just…yikes. Then there was Cassandra, who Gwendolyn was fairly certain did not like her. Although, she seemed like that with just about everyone. So maybe she just didn’t like anyone? Maybe it wasn’t personal? And then there was Cullen, who, after days of deliberation, Gwendolyn decided maybe was _not _evil. She was probably projecting her sentiments towards other templars onto him. And that wasn’t fair of her. If she would resent a templar disliking her because of other mages they’d encountered, then she could not rightly turn around and do the same to templars. Especially templars who _technically _had not given her a reason to dislike them. Yet. There was still time. And she still hadn’t forgiven him for the druffalo comments.

It was a brisk morning when Gwendolyn arrived at the blacksmith, having received a request via the requisition officer to show up.

“Harritt? Threnn said you wanted to see me?” she asked.

“Ah, yes, My Lady. If you would, we could really use these,” said Harritt, handing her a list of things.

Gwendolyn’s eye twitched as she read down the list. No. This had to be a joke.

“Three of them should be enough for now. There should be plenty in the woods. Just take them out and have our soldiers collect them,” said Harritt.

“Of course. I’ll see to it right away,” said Gwendolyn, internally screaming.

With that, she turned to head into the woods, but decided to face the music first.

“Herald,” said Cullen as she approached him.

“It occurs to me that if we are to work together, it would be beneficial to get to know each other better,” she prefaced.

Cullen shifted on his feet and crossed his arms, as was common for him. “What is it you wish to know?”

“All right…where are you from?” she asked.

“I grew up in Ferelden near Honnleath. I was transferred to Kirkwall shortly after the Blight,” said Cullen. “This is the first I’ve returned in almost ten years.”

“You haven’t seen Ferelden in ten years? Are you glad to be back?” she asked.

“I was not sorry to leave at the time. I did not expect to return. Now—between the Divine’s murder and the Breach—I’ve arrived to find nothing but chaos,” said Cullen.

“If you were in Ferelden during the Blight, did you fight darkspawn? Like Leliana?” she asked.

“No. I was stationed at Ferelden’s Circle Tower. The Circle had troubles of its own. I…remained there during the Blight,” said Cullen, with difficulty.

Gwendolyn knew this must be a sore subject. She decided to switch the subject, although perhaps didn’t do much to improve things. “What was Kirkwall like?”

Cullen gave her a look. “While I was there, Qunari occupied and then attacked the city, the viscount’s murder caused political unrest, relations between mages and Templars fell apart, an apostate blew up the chantry, and the Knight-Commander went mad…other than that it was fine.”

“Oh, is that all?” said Gwendolyn.

“My roommate snored for a time,” said Cullen.

Gwendolyn laughed despite herself and then recovered. “So, what happened exactly between Kirkwall’s mages and templars? Did tensions just reach a tipping point?”

“You were at the Conclave. You must have heard people speak of it,” frowned Cullen.

“But you were _there_,” said Gwendolyn.

Cullen sighed. “There was tension between mages and templars long before I arrived. Eventually, it reached a breaking point. There was fighting in the streets. Abominations began killing both sides. It was a nightmare.”

“What happened then?” she asked.

“The templars should have restored order, but red lyrium had driven Knight-Commander Meredith mad. She threatened to kill Kirkwall’s Champion, turned on her own men. I’m not sure how far should have gone. Too far,” said Cullen.

“So, you opposed her,” she reasoned.

“I stood with the Champion against her. In the end. But I should have seen through Meredith sooner,” said Cullen.

“You know, Varric’s from Kirkwall. Did you two know each other?” she asked.

“I knew he was friends with the Champion of Kirkwall, but little else. We’ve spoken more since I joined the Inquisition. Largely at Varric’s insistence. Apparently, I spend too much time with a serious expression on my face and it’s bad for my health,” said Cullen.

Gwendolyn could not help but laugh at that. It was so painfully true. Maker’s Breath, he needed to lighten up. At least he was capable of making jokes, though. It was good to know that somewhere, beneath his austere exterior, he might actually not be quite so terrible. Maybe. 

Once she was done laughing, she said, “You know, I’ve been surrounded by templars my entire life, and yet believe it or not, rarely spoke to any of them. So, if you will, indulge me here. Why did you join the Order?”

“I could think of no better calling than to protect those in need. I used to beg the templars at our local chantry to teach me. At first they merely humored me, but I must have shown promise. Or at least a willingness to learn. The Knight-Captain spoke to my parents on my behalf. They agreed to send me for training. I was thirteen when I left home,” said Cullen.

Gwendolyn stared at him. “Thirteen? But that’s still so young.”

“I wasn’t the youngest one there. Some children are promised to the order at infancy,” said Cullen.

A shadow passed over Gwendolyn’s face at that. She was well aware of that particular fact.

“Still, I didn’t take on full responsibilities until I was eighteen. The Order sees you trained and educated first,” said Cullen.

“What about your family? Did you miss them?” she asked.

“Of course. But there were many my age who felt the same. We learned to look out for one another. I assume it was quite as with mages in the Circle,” said Cullen.

“To an extent, I suppose. Much of that depended on when the mages came into their powers. Those who come into them earlier typically feel somewhat superior to those who get their powers later on and are more powerful. The resentment grows, tensions build, and well, you were a templar, you know the rest,” said Gwendolyn.

“I suppose I do,” said Cullen.

“What do you think of mages?” she asked, a loaded question if ever there was one.

Cullen chose his words carefully. “I’ve seen the suffering magic can inflict. I’ve treated mages with distrust because of it—at times without cause. That was unworthy of me. I will try not to do so here.”

She blinked at him. It was not the response she had expected. Worse, it was perfectly reasonable. Damn it all, he might actually be a decent person.

And then he ruined it.

“Not that I want mages moving through our base completely unchecked. We need safeguards in place to protect people—including mages—from possession. At the least,” said Cullen.

Gwendolyn was trying very hard not to take offense to that and decided to pursue a different line of questioning. “So, you’ve lived in the Circle. I know how I spent _my _days there, but what was a typical day like for a templar?”

Cullen chuckled. “‘Typical’. The last time I was in a Circle was right before it fell apart. Nothing was _typical_.”

“Well, yes, obviously. Before that,” said Gwendolyn impatiently.

“Certain rituals require a full guard. A mage’s Harrowing, for instance. I’ve attended a few. Most of the time you merely maintain a presence—on patrol or in the Circle. Ready to respond if needed. Mages pretend to ignore that presence, but they are watching you just as closely. Err, which you probably already knew,” said Cullen.

“Was it just at Ostwick or is it everywhere that templars and mages never speak to each other?” asked Gwendolyn.

“Some do. But templars are supposed to maintain a certain distance from their charges. If a mage is possessed or uses blood magic, you must act quickly, without hesitation. Your judgment cannot be clouded. Of course, ignoring one another does nothing to foster understanding,” said Cullen.

Gwendolyn seemed mildly amused by that revelation. “Hmm. Someone should have told the Knight-Captain of Ostwick that. Anyway, what does templar training involve?”

“There is weapon and combat training. Even without their abilities, templars are among the best warriors in Thedas. Initiates must also memorize portions of the Chant of Light, study history, and improve their mental focus,” said Cullen.

“Did you enjoy your training?” she asked, already knowing the answer.

“I wanted to learn everything. If I was giving my life to this, I would be the best templar I could,” said Cullen.

“I bet you were a model student, weren’t you? Brought your teacher an apple and everything,” said Gwendolyn.

Cullen chuckled. “I wanted to be. I wasn’t always successful. Watching a candle burn down while reciting the Chant of Transfigurations wasn’t the most _exciting_ task. I admit, my mind sometimes wandered.”

“Do templars take vows? ‘I swear to the Maker to watch all the mages’—that sort of thing?” she asked.

“There’s a vigil first. You’re meant to be at peace during that time, but your life is about to change. When it’s over, you give yourself to a life of service. That’s when you’re given a philter—your first draught of lyrium—and its power. As templars, we are not to seek wealth or acknowledgment. Our lives belong to the Maker and the path we have chosen,” said Cullen.

“Someone _really _forgot to tell the Knight-Captain of Ostwick that,” said Gwendolyn.

Cullen looked at her curiously.

“Knight-Captain Cador, the pride of the Ostwick Circle and the Trevelyan family and regrettably my older brother,” said Gwendolyn, gaging his response.

“Ah. Yes. Of course,” said Cullen. 

“You’ve met him?” she asked.

“No, but I have…heard of him,” said Cullen.

He definitely knew the man. Cador had that effect on people.

“Lucky you. You’ll forgive me for the interrogation, but he’s not exactly the sharing type, you understand,” she said.

This was getting too close to topics she didn’t want to breach with him yet. She decided to shift the conversation to other topics and shift the focus firmly off of herself. “So, do templars take other vows?”  
“Other vows…? What do you—” began Cullen, then, seeing her smirk, caught on. “Oh. It’s not, err, that is to say—” Cullen cleared his throat. Maker’s Breath, why was she doing this to him? He could feel his face growing hot. “Some people…do choose to further their devotion and take additional vows, but it is not a requirement.”

Gwendolyn’s smirk was maddening. She was thoroughly enjoying watching the proud commander squirm. “What about you?”  
Cullen was still blushing and hating himself for it. “Me?”

“Did you take additional vows?” she asked, her eyes glittered like gemstones, her delicate features alight with amusement.

The Commander was beyond flustered. “I, um, took no such, um, vows. Maker’s Breath can we not discuss something else?”

Gwendolyn was still grinning as she shrugged. “That’s all for now. Harritt has me off hunting—” She stopped herself before she could say what.

“Hunting what?” he asked, attempting to recover his composure.

She shot him a scathing look and started off towards the woods.

“Druffalo, is it?” asked Cullen.

\---

It was the night before we were to leave for the Hinterlands and just about everyone in Haven was dead asleep. Unless, of course, you were the Commander, in which case you had horrific nightmares and were up late attending paperwork in his command tent on the outskirts of town. But the thing was, if you were an ex-templar up late doing paperwork and by all means the only non-patrol officer presently awake in camp, then you absolutely noticed the sudden overwhelming amount of magic coming from the frozen lake.

Paperwork forgotten, years of templar training and instincts took over. He grabbed his sword and rushed out of the tent, completely ready to neutralize whatever danger now stood in the lake threatening Haven. And so, sword drawn and remaining templar abilities at the ready, he ran over to the lake, only to stop dead in his tracks because it turned out not to be a threat at all, but rather the Lady Herald.

It was unmistakably her. No one else had white-blonde hair that looked like that in the moonlight. No one else radiated ice magic like this. She stood with her back to him, staff out in front of her and remnants of ice magic everywhere. While somewhat clumsy and gawky usually, as she spun, casting ice magic and putting on a magical display, she was all grace, icy beauty, and fluid motion. Cullen could not but stand and watch, his earlier worry forgotten.

At the end of it all, Gwendolyn touched the end of her staff to the lake and all the ice magic around her disappeared, leaving the ice’s surface untouched and unmarked, as if nothing had ever happened. She stowed her staff on her back, turned around, saw Cullen, let out a yelp of surprise, slipped on the ice, and ungracefully landed flat on her back.

Ever the gentleman, Cullen slid down the ridge and helped her to her feet.

“Sorry about that. I wasn’t expecting to see anyone there and you startled me,” said Gwendolyn as she brushed herself off.

“It was not my intention, Herald. Precisely what are you doing out here anyway?” he asked, sword still in his right hand.

Gwendolyn glanced at the drawn sword and took a precautionary step backward, her eyes never leaving the blade. “Why? Does it matter?”

Cullen sheathed his sword and saw her relax considerably. “It is my job to consider matters of security in Haven, you understand. Every templar here has likely noticed.”

Gwendolyn winced and didn’t look at him. “We leave in the morning and I was too anxious to sleep, so I thought I might come out here to practice. Warriors can train during the day, but everyone gets a bit antsy if I do the same, so I thought it would be best to come out here where no one was. I guess I wasn’t as discrete as I thought I was.”

“Understandable, I suppose. Still, it’s not particularly safe,” frowned Cullen.

“I would never hurt anyone; I swear to you. Not every mage turns to blood magic or destruction given the opportunity, you realize,” said Gwendolyn defensively.

“I am far less concerned with you hurting others and far more concerned with the alternative,” said Cullen, his frown deepening.

“I am perfectly capable of defending myself. As you well know,” said Gwendolyn, crossing her arms and mirroring his irritation.

“My Lady, had it been another who happened upon you doing this, they would be far less understanding and inclined to mistake you for an apostate,” said Cullen.

“Are…are you saying that you think someone might try to kill me for this? But it’s just a bit of ice magic,” said Gwendolyn.

“As templars and mages battle each other throughout the Hinterlands not far from here,” said Cullen.

She seemed to shrink in on herself, eyes flicking back to Cullen’s sword briefly. “Right. Sorry. You probably have more than enough to worry about without me going and doing stupid things like this. My apologies. It won’t happen again.”

Just how ingrained was it in her to be so terrified of templars? Didn’t she realize that he wasn’t going to hurt her? She was hardly an abomination or maleficar. Far from it. “I am merely concerned for your safety, My Lady. You are the only weapon we have against the Breach and the only one who can close the rifts. It is imperative that you remain intact.”

“Of course. Again, my apologies, Commander,” said Gwendolyn stiffly.

Maker’s Breath, this was not working out the way Cullen had intended. “Truly, Herald, you have nothing to fear from me. It is my duty to protect you.”

Somehow that had also been the exact wrong thing to say. Her expression darkened considerably, and her tone was bitter. “Oh, yes, I’ve heard _that _before, haven’t I? It’s always only ever for our _protection_, isn’t it? I’m sure it was for her own protection that my best friend was murdered? That innocent children who had barely come into their magic were cut down just for having been born different. Certainly, being locked away and separated from everyone else, even at the Circle, was for my own protection, yes? And only being taken out to show off when it suited them, another oddity on display and another pawn on their damn chessboard?”

Cullen was taken aback. He’d never heard her raise her voice before. Never seen her truly furious like this. Even in the already cold night, the temperature around them plummeted, the magic rolling off of her in waves. She was intensely angry, that much was abundantly clear, just not at him. Not directly.

Her anger burned hot, but was more of a flare, burning bright for a moment then fizzling out immediately after. She deflated substantially and ran her hands over her face. “Sorry, Commander. None of that is your fault. I…I’m projecting my resentment of others onto you, I think. It’s just that…I’ve spent most of my life being told that every horrible thing that happened to me was for my own protection by my brother and it’s taking some time to adjust to anyone actually treating me like…a person.”

Cullen nodded slowly. He understood perfectly what it was to wrongfully project past pains onto innocents. He sympathized perfectly with her situation. The only difference was that her trauma had been prolonged over years whereas his had been condensed into one incident. When he spoke, his voice was gentle, as if calming a wounded animal. “I understand, My Lady. As I said before, you have nothing to fear from me.”

She nodded numbly and headed back to the village.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I may have listened to the RWBY soundtrack too often while writing this chapter.


	4. Here, There Be Bears

The Hinterlands might once have been quaint, if picturesque and peaceful. With rolling hills, family farms, ruins of ages-old castles, and breathtaking landscapes, it could very well have once been the quintessential image of Ferelden. But now it was war torn and damaged. Only ten years after the Blight, the mages and templars had moved their war there, and the Hinterlands were taking the brunt of the damage. Whole villages were burned to the ground, the ground and trees were left scarred, and the refugees were left without anywhere to go or anyone to care for them. All while templars and mages battled each other along the countryside, leaving nothing but death and destruction in their wake.

That’s what we walked into when Gwendolyn, Cassandra, Solas, and I all arrived at the Inquisition camp on the outskirts. Scout Lace Harding, a lovely ginger dwarf with freckles, a sweet smile, and killer aim, met us at the camp.

“The Herald of Andraste! I’ve heard stories. Everyone has. We know what you did at the Breach. Some are nervous that you’re a mage and think it’s odd for a mage to care about what happens to anyone outside of the war, but you’ll get no back talk here. That’s a promise. Inquisition Scout Harding, at your service. I—all of us here—we’ll do whatever we can to help,” said Scout Harding.

“Harding, huh? Ever been to Kirkwall’s Hightown?” I asked.

“I can’t say I have. Why?” she asked curiously.

“You’d be Harding in…oh, never mind,” I said.

Cassandra made a disgusted noise.

“I’m starting to worry about these ‘stories’ that everyone’s heard,” said Gwendolyn.

“Oh, there’s nothing to worry about. They only say you’re the last great hope for Thedas,” said Harding.

“Oh. Wonderful,” said Gwendolyn.

“The Hinterlands are as good a place as any to start fixing things. We came to secure horses from Redcliffe’s old horsemaster. I grew up here, and people always said that Dennet’s herds were the strongest and fastest this side of the Frostbacks. But with the mage-templar fighting getting worse, we couldn’t get to Dennet. Maker only knows if he’s even still alive. Mother Giselle’s at the crossroads helping refugees and the wounded. Our latest reports say that the war’s spread there too. Corporal Vale and our men are doing what they can to help protect the people. But they won’t be able to hold out very long. You best get going. No time to lose,” said Harding.

With that, we headed down the hill and began the trek over to the crossroads. It wasn’t all that far away and was actually a very pleasant walk, all things considered. Birds were chirping, we passed by a crystal-clear lake, templars attacked us—you know, a typical walk.

“Stop! We are not apostates!” called Cassandra.

“I don’t think they care, Seeker,” I said.

As it turned out, the Seeker and I were in comparatively little danger. The templars focused the overwhelming majority of their attacks on Solas and Gwendolyn, being mages. And of course, they were the least armored of all of us and the most critical. It was a good thing that they kept casting barriers over all four of us, otherwise it could have gone very differently.

The battle won, Solas seemed unconcerned. “They were easily overwhelmed. It must have been quite some time since they faced a mage of any real talent.”

Gwendolyn and I exchanged a look, silently agreeing that his ego was a little much.

As we continued on our way, it became abundantly clear how close we were to the battlefield. The roar of battle and fighting could be heard echoing through the Hinterlands as we descended the hill into the valley below, and what we found was anything but pleasant. Houses were on fire or reduced to smoldering ash. The bodies of the dead—both civilian and militant—lay strewn about, many aflame or little more than charred remains. Mages and Templars openly battled in the valley, furthering the destruction.

Neutral party though we were, no one had bothered to tell either the mages or templars that, because pretty soon it became a three-way battle between the four of us, the mages, and the templars. It was chaos. If not for barriers and health potions, we would have been toast.

“Well, that was fun,” I said, still breathing heavily.

“The threat is not yet removed. The apostate and templar strongholds in the area still remain,” said Cassandra.

“Well, then, shall we? I’m finding this all rather cathartic, you?” said Gwendolyn.

“Enjoying yourself, are you?” asked Cassandra distastefully.

“Only in the sense that this is helping to alleviate twenty years of pent up aggression and templar-related frustration,” said Gwendolyn.

“Hey, whatever works,” I said.

“I think I actually saw one of the mages from Ostwick back there. Deserve everything they get, if you ask me,” said Gwendolyn.

“Then let us clear out their headquarters so that the area may become safer for the refugees,” said Solas.

According to a few notes we’d found, the apostates were camped out in Witchwood. It wasn’t particularly difficult to find. The odd thing about mages who were usually so good at hiding from prying templar eyes, is that they in no way hid their location. They’d frozen over a small pond and surrounded the place with massive ice crystals. A barrier in place over the mouth of the cave sealed off the entrance to their lair. But of course, it couldn’t be that easy, so we naturally ran into not one, but _two _Fade rifts spewing demons on our way there. As if mages and Templars weren’t enough, right? But at least we had the Herald of Andraste with her magic glowing hand to slam the rifts shut.

Spellbinders and apostates attacked us the moment we passed through the perimeter of the apostate stronghold, but we had two powerful mages of our own and a Seeker, so it tipped the scales substantially in our favor. Solas blasted the ice barrier with a fireball, and immediately mages began pouring out like termites out of woodwork. The opening was narrow, though, so we were able to pick them off fairly well and dodge behind the ice crystals to avoid their spells. It took a while, but soon enough the apostates had been cleared out and at least the refugees and locals would have one less group to worry about.

“The templar encampment is west, by the river. We should go there next,” said Cassandra.

From Witchwood, we traveled back along the King’s Road west along the creatively named West Road, until we reached a broken wooden bridge that forded a shallow river.

“Well, it looks like we’re not going this way,” said Gwendolyn.

No sooner had she spoken than templars attacked—knights and foot soldiers, with one of two carrying tower shields. The real danger with the templars wasn’t necessarily their swordsmanship—though that was certainly impressive—but rather their magic negating abilities. A nasty dispel cast on one our mages could cause serious damage. Still, as it turned out, the Seeker knowing all of the templars’ weaknesses and an ex-Circle mage with a not insignificant grudge was enough to win us the fight so that we could move on to the actual encampment.

The templars were camped out in a makeshift fort on the upper banks of the river just by a waterfall. Nice placement, but the thing with makeshift forts is that they allow for easy surprise attacks on our part and makes it really easy to isolate the enemy in a small pocket by a campfire. A campfire which can be easily immolated by a mage to take out all the templars there.

“We are victorious once more,” said Cassandra.

“This should make things much safer for refugees on the King’s Road,” said Solas.

“Let’s head back to the crossroads and find Mother Giselle,” said Gwendolyn.

We met no resistance on our way back to the crossroads, but the stillness of it all was jarring. Somehow, the destruction of the area just felt more desolate now that things had calmed down.

The crossroads—once a bustling little town at the very heart of the Hinterlands and important trade post on the way to Redcliffe—had seen quite a bit of damage, but at least the majority of the buildings were still standing. After sending word to our camp that the way was clear, Inquisition soldiers had come and finished securing the area, allowing the refugees to come out of hiding and occupy the little town. Our soldiers distributed aid, but clearly they needed help. And if the look Gwendolyn had was anything to go by, us four were going to be picking up the slack.

We found Mother Giselle up in the healing center on the eastern part of town, kneeling beside an injured soldier.

“There are mages here who can heal your wounds. Lie still,” she said gently in a thick Orlesian accent.

“Don’t…let them touch me, Mother. Their magic is…” began the soldier.

“Turned to noble purpose. Their magic is surely no more evil than your blade,” said Mother Giselle.

“But…” trailed off the soldier.

“Hush, dear boy. Allow them to ease your suffering,” soothed Mother Giselle.

“Mother Giselle?” asked Gwendolyn.

The aging Mother stood easily to her feet and strode over to Gwendolyn. “I am. And you must be the one they’re calling the Herald of Andraste.”

“What you said to that soldier…” said Gwendolyn.

“We do not teach that magic is evil. We teach that pride is evil—and does not corrupt only mages,” said Mother Giselle. “But I did not ask you to come simply to debate with me.”

“Then why am I here?” Gwendolyn asked.

“I know of the Chantry’s denouncement, and I’m familiar with those behind it. I won’t lie to you: some of them are grandstanding, hoping to increase their chances of becoming the new Divine. Some are simply terrified. So many good people, senselessly taken from us...” said Mother Giselle.

“But don’t you stand with the rest of the Chantry?” Gwendolyn asked in confusion.

“With no Divine, we are each left to our own conscience—and mine tells me this. Go to them. Convince the remaining clerics you are no demon to be feared. They have heard only frightful tales of you. Give them something else to believe,” urged Mother Giselle.

“They want to execute me, and you think I should just walk up to them? That sounds like suicide,” said Gwendolyn.

“You are no longer alone. They cannot imprison or attack you,” said Mother Giselle.

“They can certainly try,” said Gwendolyn.

“Let me put it this way: you needn’t convince them all. You just need some of them to _doubt_. Their power is their unified voice. Take that from them and you receive the time you need,” said Mother Giselle.

“It’s good of you to do this. Thank you,” said Gwendolyn.

“I honestly don’t know if you’ve been touched by fate or sent to help us…but I hope. Hope is what we need now. The people will listen to your rallying call, as they will listen to no other. You could build the Inquisition into a force that will deliver us…or destroy us,” said Mother Giselle.

Gwendolyn looked a bit as if Mother Giselle had just shifted the weight of all of Thedas onto her shoulders.

“I will go to Haven and provide Sister Leliana the names of those in the Chantry who would be amenable to a gathering. It is not much, but I will do whatever I can,” said Mother Giselle.

With that, she took her leave of us.

“Well, that was…joyous,” said Gwendolyn.

“We should return to Haven at once and discuss this with the others. We will need to develop a plan,” said Cassandra.

“Scout Harding said to speak with Corporal Vale about helping the refugees,” said Gwendolyn.

“Very well. Do what you must,” said Cassandra.

Gwendolyn ran up the hill to where the corporal was directing soldiers. They spoke briefly before she jogged back over to us and delivered our next directive. “They have hunters out securing food for the refugees, but he says that most of the refugees don’t have warm enough clothes and that it’s supposed to get cold later this evening. The apostates have caches hidden away in the southern hills in a few caves and he says that if we can find them, the help would be invaluable.”

“Anything to help these poor people. Let’s go,” I said.

As we began to head south out of town, we passed by a small cave where a woman in enchanter’s robes stood by a pedestal, gazing into the depths of the shallow pool. It was a curious enough sight that it caught Gwendolyn’s attention and she approached the other woman.

The enchanter looked up from her seeing and said, “I am Enchanter Ellandra. What can I do for you?”

“You’re a Circle mage all the way out here, but you’re not part of the rebellion?” Gwendolyn asked in confusion.

The enchanter seemed irritated by that. “I was happy living in the Circle and want no part in a senseless war that will do nothing but make everyone hate us mages more.”

Gwendolyn held up her hands in surrender. “I didn’t join the rebellion either. I was just curious. I haven’t seen another non-combative, neutral mage since I left the Free Marches.”

Enchanter Ellandra clearly was impatient about something and wanted nothing to do with Gwendolyn or her attempt at comradery. “I am waiting for someone. If you would kindly leave me be, he should be here soon. He had my phylactery. He knows where to find me.”

At Gwendolyn’s look of surprise, the enchanter continued. “Does that surprise you? Do you think it forbidden or taboo? A sin as terrible as blood magic? Lock together young, healthy men and women and who do you _think _is bound to happen? Do not judge me for finding my happiness in what was otherwise a prison.”

“I wasn’t…never mind,” said Gwendolyn, shaking her head.

She strode back down the hill to rejoin us. “Well, she was friendly.”

“Did I hear correctly that she and a templar are _involved_?” asked Cassandra.

“I mean, it happens. Never understood the appeal to wanting to bed your jailer,” said Gwendolyn irritably as we walked on.

“It is strongly forbidden by the Order,” said Cassandra in disapproval.

“I’m fairly certain that blood magic is forbidden too, but we all know how that went,” said Gwendolyn.

“It is not the same. Blood magic is discouraged in mages who are tempted by dangerous magical pursuits. Templars are discouraged from such base behavior as it impedes their ability to perform their duties,” said Cassandra.

“Hmm, yes, I’m sure it does. The difference is that when templars got involved with mages at the Ostwick Circle, they received only a minor reprimand. But when a girl I knew had a templar force himself on her, she was made tranquil for corrupting a pure soldier of the faith and he suffered exactly zero consequences. So you’ll forgive me for not thinking it at all reasonable or fair how the system was established. My concern is far less the corruption of templars and far _more _the inherent power imbalance of a jailer and a prisoner where the prisoner in question can have their entire life ruined just because some templar thinks of the mages at the Circle as prey rather than something to protect,” said Gwendolyn angrily.

Cassandra said nothing for a moment before replying, “I take it that your conversation with Commander Cullen did not go well.”

Gwendolyn shot her a look.

“What did Curly do this time? If it’s that he seemed to be in a bad mood, it’s just because he needs to lighten up more as a general rule. I’ve tried telling him that, but it only makes him scowl more,” I said.

“Commander Cullen has done nothing. But there is an inherent degree of distrust between the two and I have been attempting to force them into a truce for the sake of the Inquisition,” said Cassandra.

“A truce implies some sort of conflict. There’s no conflict,” said Gwendolyn.

“Do you think we do not all sense the tension whenever we have war council meetings? Even Josephine wondered what was going on,” said Cassandra.

“There’s nothing going on. He’s just very…templary. And has the most hideous coat I’ve ever seen in my entire life. It hurts my eyes just to look at it. Is there a point to that horrid fur thing?” said Gwendolyn.

“In that at least, you, Leliana, and Josephine are in agreement. There was an entire debate the other day,” said Cassandra.

“Curly’s not so bad once you get used to him, Princess. He’s just not so used to mages being as cuddly as you,” I said.

“He radiates disapproval,” said Gwendolyn.

“That’s just his way,” I said.

“Yes, well, him and his way can stay nice and far away on the other side of the war room from me,” said Gwendolyn.

Cassandra groaned in frustration.

We continued south, past the ruin of an old fort of King Calenhad’s and into the southern hills. It was a charming little area, complete with drakestone outcroppings and crystal grace bushes. Picturesque forests with flowering trees and ages-old statues complemented by nugs scurrying about and birds chirping in the trees. Really, if not for the odd bandit, stray templar, and Fade rift, it might have been pleasant.

We’d located two of the three apostate supply caches and were well on our way to locating the third when there came a roar from behind us. We all turned to see a massive brown bear roaring at us and two of its friends close behind.

“Sweet Maker, you have got to be kidding me,” said Gwendolyn.

\--- 

The Commander sat in his command tent signing orders when a messenger delivered a thick stack of reports to him.

“From the Herald’s venture into the Hinterlands, Ser,” said the messenger with a salute before scurrying out of the tent.

Cullen set aside the orders he’d been preparing and focused his attention on the sizable stack of paper before him, wondering what in Holy Andraste’s name could possibly have transpired to warrant such a lengthy description of events.

The first on the pile was Solas’s. It came as somewhat unsurprising that the mage’s report was succinct yet managed to include all the vital details as well as an assessment of rift activity in the Hinterlands. It proved a helpful summary. The next was Cassandra’s, and hers was everything one might hope for in a report. It was a complete report containing all the necessary detail, leaving out all the unnecessary flourishes or details that were unimportant for his purposes. The third report he got was mine, and he immediately understood the reason for the thickness of the stack. Cullen learned the lesson that day that you never ask an author to write a report of events unless you want a detailed account of every leaf on every tree and absolutely every event that transpired. I happen to think that my report was the best of them. I have since been informed that Cullen disagreed.

The final report Cullen got to was the Herald’s, and he quickly discovered that she had never written a military report before in her life: 

_First, let me just say that everyone fighting in this damn war is a blind fool. They didn’t care who we were or which side we were on (neutral, obviously), they just attacked! Oh yes, shoot fireballs at us first, ask questions later. That will _definitely _get you the freedom that you’re supposedly fighting for. And the templars are just the same! A local farmer said that templars killed her husband as he was digging out a stump because they thought his shovel was a mage’s staff! Who does that? Have all of these people gone mad? Are you sure we have to ally with either of these groups? They’re both terrible. _

_ Anyway, Cassandra says that I’m supposed to convey a helpful report of everything that happened, though I don’t know what I could possibly say that she hadn’t already written more succinctly or that Varric hadn’t already written ten pages on. Seriously, is he writing another book? He’s been sitting over there for an hour already. But you probably already know that if you’re reading this because his report is probably in the same pile. My sympathies. _

_ Right. So, helpful description of events. Here goes. _

_ We started off by clearing out the area of both templars and apostates, ending their fighting on the King’s Road and clearing out both of their headquarters. As an aside, can I just say, that for a group of apostates, hiding in a place called Witchwood is really just an unnecessary cliché. That’d be like templars hiding in Templar Town. It’s absurd. If they didn’t want to be found, they should have picked a less obvious location. Might as well have hung a damn sign over the door. Except that they didn’t bother with a door, they just had a truly appalling amount of ice magic surrounding a cave. No subtlety at all. Idiots. And their form was terrible. If they’d been my apprentices, they would have been running drills and practicing incantations for the next week in a half for a display like that. Who trained these people? Has the Circle’s educational system gone out the window along with all sense of decorum? I’m surprised they could even hold a staff correctly. I was almost embarrassed for them. You know, except for the fact that they were trying to kill me. _

_ Speaking of things that want to kill me, did it occur to you, Commander, in your many lectures on safety and long winded ways of saying ‘try not to die’, did it occur to you at all, even for a moment, that it might be somehow relevant to maybe, just maybe, mention the little fact that there are BEARS in the Hinterlands? Ever? You know, that little chestnut? Because there are! Tons of them! And I think we ran into at least ten just collecting blankets for refugees alone! Ten bears, Commander! You know how many bears I was prepared to encounter today? NONE. I did not sign up for bears, Commander. Nugs and fennec I can handle. Even the druffalo I’m starting to get used to. But the BEARS?! Bears?! And Horsemaster Dennet’s wife had us hunt wolves too! And not just wolves, but creepy, potentially blighted wolves with glowing green eyes that were being controlled by a demon! Why is this wildlife in this country so evil? Why does everything want to kill me? If it’s not the people or the demons from these stupid rifts, it’s the damn bears and wolves and whatever else is secretly in these horrible woods. What’s next? A damn dragon? Commander, this is unacceptable. I draw the line at bears. I do not like bears. I had never seen a bear before today in person, and I do not like them. I thought bears just ate honey and fish and kept to themselves. Why do they feel the need to attack me just for existing in their general vicinity, huh? What did I ever do to them? I just wanted to collect blankets. Did the bear want the blankets? Is that what this was about? _

_ Anyway, yes, blankets. After meeting with Mother Giselle, I spoke with Corporal Vale and he said that the refugees in the crossroads could use blankets and that the apostates had hidden caches all along the southern hills and that we should go fetch them to help the refugees. So that’s what we were doing when we ran into the bears. Stupid bears. Have I mentioned that I don’t like them? Because I really don’t. _

_ Right, so we found the blankets and supplies, ran into all those damn bears, and then nearly tripped over a dead templar clutching a phylactery. Oh, I should probably have mentioned the enchanter. As we were leaving the crossroads, we ran into a Circle enchanter named Elandra. (She didn’t seem to like me. Don’t know which Circle she was from). Anyway, when I tried speaking to her, she mentioned that she was waiting for a guy and that he had her phylactery. And it gets better, because the man in question was her templar lover (the scandal!). Right, so as it turned out, that’s whose corpse we nearly tripped over during the Great Blanket Hunt. He had a letter on him and Elandra’s phylactery, so we brought both back to Elandra, and after some convincing, she agreed to join the Inquisition as a healer. You guys said to recruit people, right? Is that what you meant? It can’t hurt to have another healer, right? And clearly she doesn’t have an issue with templars, so I think she’ll do well with the Inquisition. _

_ While on the subject of phylacteries, before I forget, since you’re in charge of all things security related and something tells me that ‘obtaining the Herald’s phylactery’ has at least crossed your mind at one time or another, allow me to say right here and now that you shouldn’t bother. Don’t waste your time writing to Ostwick for it, because even if the Knight-Commander sent you a response back, it would be the exact same thing I’m telling you now. The Knight-Commander does not have it, nor has he ever possessed it. I think my Harrowing was the last he officially had custody of the damn thing. No, that honor goes to the illustrious Knight-Captain Cador. Needless to say, said Knight-Captain will only part ways with it over his (or my) dead body, so don’t even bother asking. Incidentally, there is a not insignificant chance that said phylactery may make its way to Haven after all, just not in a protective case as a special delivery, but rather attached to my brother when he inevitably comes to retrieve me and forcibly drag me back to Ostwick. If he does show up, he’ll be easy to spot: medium build, about your age, looks like me, and is the human embodiment of everything wrong with the Templar Order. Can’t miss him. _

_ A bear just attacked camp. I hate the Hinterlands. _

Cullen couldn’t decide whether he found this annoying or endearing. There was no detail and little to no information of actual use, but he couldn’t argue that it wasn’t at least entertaining to read. At the very least the addendum on her brother was something to note. But what was her preoccupation with bears? The other three had not even bothered to mention it. And yet half her report was concerned with bears. Perhaps this was just one of those things he would never understand about this woman.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. Many. Bears.


	5. Bienvenue à Val Royeaux

We returned from the Hinterlands around midday, only to encounter something akin to an angry mob outside of the chantry. As we approached, it was clear that mages were on one side of the clearing and templars on the other.

“Your kind killed the Most Holy!” accused a templar.

“Lies—your kind let her die!” argued a mage.

“Shut your mouth mage!” cried the templar as he reached for his sword.

Cullen shoved himself between them and intervened. “Enough!”

“Knight-Commander!” said the templar in surprise.

“That is not my title. We are _not _templars any longer. We are _all _part of the Inquisition,” said Cullen, chastising both parties, like the disapproving dad of the Inquisition.

“And what does that mean, exactly?” said Chancellor Roderick.

“Back already, Chancellor? Haven’t you done enough?” said Cullen.

“I’m curious, Commander, as to how your Inquisition and its ‘Herald’ will restore order as you’ve promised,” said Roderick.

“Of course you are,” glared Cullen before raising his voice and turning his attention to the gathered crowd. “Back to your duties. All of you!”

As the crowd dispersed, Gwendolyn jogged up the path and went to interrupt the standoff presently occurring between an irate Roderick and Cullen, who was standing in front of the chantry doors, arms crossed, and doing his best guard dog impression.

“Mages and templars were already at war. Now they’re blaming each other for the Divine’s death,” said Cullen as she joined them.

“Which is why we require a _proper _authority to guide them back to order,” said Roderick.

“Who, you? Random clerics who weren’t important enough to be at the Conclave?” scoffed Cullen.

“The rebel Inquisition and its so-called ‘Herald of Andraste’? I think not,” huffed Roderick.

“If the ‘proper’ authority hadn’t completely failed, the Conclave wouldn’t have been needed in the first place,” said Gwendolyn.

“So, you suggest I blame the Chantry and exalt a murderer? What of justice?” balked Roderick.

“That won’t help restore order in the here and now,” said Cullen.

“Me? Suggest that you take responsibility for your own shortcomings and stop blaming me for a crime I didn’t commit? Perish the thought,” said Gwendolyn.

“Order will never be restored so long as this rebellion is allowed to fester,” said Roderick.

Gwendolyn looked up at Cullen. “Remind me why you’re allowing the Chancellor to stay?”  
“Clearly your _templar_ knows where to draw the line,” said Roderick.

“He’s toothless. There’s no point turning him into a martyr simply because he runs his mouth,” said Cullen. “The chancellor’s a good indicator of what to expect in Val Royeaux, however.”

“Well, then let’s hope we find solutions in Val Royeaux and not a cathedral full of…chancellors,” said Gwendolyn distastefully.

“The stuff of nightmares,” agreed Cullen.

“Mock if you will. I’m certain the Maker is less amused,” said Roderick as he strolled off to antagonize someone else.

Cullen kept his gaze on the chancellor as he spoke, watching the man like a hawk. “I take it that your return from the Hinterlands was uneventful.”

“If by ‘uneventful’ you mean that bears attacked our camp _twice_, then yes, it was extremely uneventful,” huffed Gwendolyn.

“Yes, I gathered your lack of affection for the creatures from your report,” said Cullen.

“Some warning next time would be nice,” said Gwendolyn.

“You were in the forest; did you truly expect there to be no wildlife?” said Cullen.

“Not wildlife that wanted to kill me,” hissed Gwendolyn.

“If it is any consolation, it is unlikely that any wildlife will attack you in Val Royeaux,” said Cullen.

“You’re right. Just clerics that want to execute me,” said Gwendolyn.

He looked at her then in some amusement. “You may find yourself wishing for the bears.”

\---

A war council meeting was called immediately upon our return from the Hinterlands. Needless to say, the advisors were divided on a course of action.

“Having the Herald address the clerics is not a terrible idea,” said Josephine.

“You can’t be serious,” said Cullen.

“Mother Giselle isn’t wrong. The Chantry’s only strength is that they are united in opinion,” said Josephine.

“And we should ignore the danger to the Herald?” said Leliana.

“Let’s ask her,” said Josephine.

“I’m more concerned that this might not actually help anything,” said Gwendolyn.

“I agree. This is pointless,” said Cullen irritably.

She looked at him in shock. He was agreeing with her?

“I will go with her,” said Cassandra. “Mother Giselle said she could provide us names? Use them.”

“But why? This is nothing but a—” began Leliana.

“What choice do we have, Leliana? Right now, we can’t approach anyone for help with the Breach. Use what influence we have to call the clerics together. Once they are ready, we will see this through.”

\---

Val Royeaux has been called many things, from the Jewel of the Empire, to the Gleaming Capital, to the Golden City of Orlais. Home to the Imperial Court and Grand Cathedral, it is the heart of Orlesian culture and the soul of machinations. It is where art comes to live and dreams go to die, where love blooms and hearts break, where wicked eyes and wicked hearts smile at each other and complement each other’s fashions. It is as beautiful as its people are conniving and duplicitous and as lovely as the wine is expensive.

Gwendolyn was completely overwhelmed. She’d always wanted to see the world, after all. And now here she was, in Val Royeaux, and Maker’s Breath was it stunning. She struggled to take it all in, from the fifty-foot statues, to the golden domed marble buildings. She barely even registered Cassandra’s words.

“The city still mourns,” said Cassandra, not impressed, or perhaps simply accustomed to the atmosphere.

We passed by a group of Orlesian nobles who gasped in fright and ran off upon seeing us.

“Just a guess, Seeker, but I think they all know who we are,” I said.

“Your skills of observation never fail to impress me, Varric,” said Cassandra.

Just then, an Inquisition scout ran up to us and took a knee before Cassandra and Gwendolyn. “My Lady Herald.”

“You’re one of Leliana’s people. What have you found?” asked Cassandra.

“The Chantry mothers await you, but…so do a great many templars,” said the scout.

“Wonderful,” said Gwendolyn unenthusiastically.

“There are templars here?” said Cassandra.

“People seem to think the templars will protect them from…from the Inquisition. They’re gathering on the other side of the market. I think that’s where the templars intend to meet you,” said the scout.

“Only one thing to do then,” said Cassandra. Then, after a moment, she said. “They wish to protect the people? From _us_? Ugh. Return to Haven. Someone will need to inform them if we are…delayed.”

“As you say, My Lady,” said the scout.

We headed down the walkway and into the summer bazaar, lovingly decorated with blue painted buildings, red silk draping over the market, and a hangman’s noose by the apple trees. Val Royeaux, in a nutshell. Even from the entranceway, you could see a crowd gathered on the other side of the central tower, and so we walked over to see what was going on.

A revered mother stood on a raised platform along with other clerics and a handful of Templars as she addressed the mass of masked Orlesians. “Good people of Val Royeaux, hear me! Together we mourn our Divine. Her naïve and beautiful heart silenced by treachery! You wonder what will become of her murderer? Well, wonder no more! Behold! The so-called Herald of Andraste! Claiming to rise where our beloved fell! We say this is a false prophet! The Maker would send no mage in our hour of need!”

“We came here to talk peacefully. Not only did I _not _kill the Divine, thank you very much, but I am simply trying to close the Breach. It threatens us all!” replied Gwendolyn angrily.

“It’s true! The Inquisition seeks only to end this madness before it is too late!” declared Cassandra.

“It is already too late!” said the Revered Mother as she held out her arm to her left, just as Lord Seeker Lucius and his Templars marched over to the platform. “The templars have returned to the Chantry! They will face this ‘Inquisition’, and the people will be safe once more!”

Lord Seeker Lucius stepped onto the platform but kept walking by the revered mother. The templar behind him hit the revered mother and she cried out, collapsing onto the platform unconscious as the other clerics rushed to her aid.

“What’s the meaning of this?” demanded Gwendolyn.

“Her claim to ‘authority’ is an insult. Much like your own,” said the Lord Seeker as he descended the stairs off the platform.

Cassandra rushed to walk with him. “Lord Seeker Lucius. It is imperative that we speak with—”

“You will not address me,” seethed the Lord Seeker.

“Lord Seeker?” asked Cassandra in confusion.

“Creating a heretical movement, raising up a puppet as Andraste’s prophet. You should be ashamed. You should all be ashamed! The templars failed no one when they left the Chantry to purge the mages! You are the ones that have failed! You who’d leash our righteous swords with doubt and fear! If you came to appeal to the Chantry, you are too late. The only destiny here that demands respect is mine,” spat the Lord Seeker.

Well, that was rude of him.

“Templars, one of your own commands the Inquisition’s forces. Join us as he did,” urged Gwendolyn.

The Lord Seeker laughed, cold and cruel. “A staunch and loyal member of the Order. So loyal, he abandoned them for a false Herald. And a mage, no less. Now little more than her pet. They are all traitors for pledging themselves to you.”

Another templar approached the Lord Seeker nervously. “But Lord Seeker…what if she really was sent by the Maker? What if—?”

“You are called to a higher purpose! Do not question!” barked another templar—the one who had punched out the revered mother.

“_I _will make the Templar Order a power that stands alone against the Void. _We _deserve recognition. Independence. You have shown me nothing, and the Inquisition…less than nothing. Templars! Val Royeaux is unworthy of our protection! We march!” roared the Lord Seeker.

With that, every templar in the plaza followed him out of the city.

“Charming fellow, isn’t he?” I said.

“Has the Lord Seeker gone mad?” wondered Cassandra.

“Do you know him very well?” asked Gwendolyn.

“He took over the Seekers of Truth two years ago, after Lord Seeker Lambert’s death. He was always a decent man, never given to grandstanding or ambition. This is very bizarre,” said Cassandra.

“Fortunately, the templars aren’t our only hope,” said Gwendolyn.

“I wouldn’t write them off so quickly. There must be those in the Order who see what he’s become,” said Cassandra.

Gwendolyn looked at her like she had six heads.

“Either way, we should first return to Haven and inform the others,” said Cassandra.

“Yes, I’m sure that’s going to go over well. Does someone _else _want to be the one to inform Cullen that the Lord Seeker called him my pet? And that the templars are definitely not going to help? Because I’d really rather not be the one to tell him,” said Gwendolyn.

“The Lord Seeker’s actions are nonsensical. Others will see reason,” said Cassandra.

“Right, yes, they’ll see reason while they’re _purging _the mages. Except, here’s the thing, _I_ am a mage. Who they want to purge. And who they already hate,” said Gwendolyn.

“They will see reason,” said Cassandra.

“You’ll forgive me if I lack your optimism,” said Gwendolyn.

As she spoke, an arrow flew out of nowhere and landed on the pavement just to the left of Gwendolyn, causing her to let out a squeak of fright.

“What was that? Where did it come from?” wondered Cassandra, looking around.

Gwendolyn bent down and picked up the note that was attached, scribbled on a bit of red paper.

“It says to come to a specific address—some courtyard—because the Friends of Red Jenny have intelligence regarding someone who wants me dead,” said Gwendolyn. “And then there’s a crude drawing of an Orlesian nobleman being speared by an arrow.”

“That sounds like a trap,” said Cassandra.

“Or a friendly face who doesn’t want me dead,” offered Gwendolyn.

Cassandra gave her a look.

“It says to come by tonight, and it’s on our way, so it can’t hurt,” said Gwendolyn.

Cassandra rolled her eyes but agreed.

“And while we’re here, would anyone mind terribly if we visit some of the shops? Josephine was telling me all about some of the shopping that’s here. Apparently, there’s a pastry shop that exclusively sells little cakes!” said Gwendolyn, eyes alight with girlish excitement.

Cassandra’s lips pressed into a thin line.

“Come on, Seeker. You know you secretly love little cakes,” I said.

“And I thought we might pick some up for Josephine while we were there. She doesn’t seem very at home in Haven and seems to really miss this place, so I thought it might be nice to bring something back for her,” continued Gwendolyn.

Cassandra sighed in defeat as Gwendolyn continued to ramble. “And Leliana apparently loves fashion and all things Orlesian, so I thought we might pick something up for her while we’re here. Josephine said that Leliana likes these chocolate pastries, so maybe some of those? But then if we’re getting sweets for them, it would be rude to leave out Cullen, so we should get him something too. I suppose. But he’s Ferelden, and besides mabari I don’t know what they like. Maybe cookies shaped like mabari? They must sell those here somewhere. Or would that be weird to eat a cookie shaped like a mabari?”

The Seeker shot me a look as Gwendolyn continued to prattle on and debate the pros and cons of cookies and little cakes, clearly blaming me for her continued pain.

Gwendolyn continued to verbally think through what types of sweets her advisors might enjoy to soften the blow of our epic failure in Val Royeaux as we walked through the city, with Solas proving a surprise expert in all things little cake related.

Outside the café where we opted to take our midday meal, two Inquisition soldiers were standing guard. I’d begun to notice them all throughout the city, and apparently, I wasn’t the only one, because Gwendolyn decided to ask what they were doing there.

“You’re Inquisition soldiers; what are you doing here?” she asked in confusion.

“Commander Cullen has ordered us to maintain a presence in Val Royeaux and to be particularly vigilant whilst the Lady Herald is to be here, My Lady. This has been received by the City Guard as you might expect,” said the soldier.

Cassandra rolled her eyes. “Worried that clerics will attempt to have you killed, no doubt.”

After a lunch of rich Orlesian fair, we traveled to what could only be described as the pastry district, at which point the Lady Herald nearly lost her shit. She was more excited than a kid who’d been told that school was cancelled. And we just let her be, because frankly, it was almost a relief to see _someone _enjoying themselves at what felt like the end of the world. And if letting her buy pastries would bring her this much joy, then so be it.

As we were preparing to return to the market district, a messenger stopped us and handed Gwendolyn a sealed envelope on expensive stationary. “Herald of Andraste, Madame de Fer cordially invites you to attend her fete tomorrow at the palace of Duke Bastien de Ghislain.”

With that, the messenger bowed and disappeared.

“Becoming quite popular, I see,” said Solas.

“Who’s Madame de Fer and do we think she wants me dead?” asked Gwendolyn, getting straight to the point.

“She was the Court Enchantress to Empress Celene and First Enchanter of the Circle of Magi in Montsimmard,” said Cassandra.

“Oh. So, she probably doesn’t want to kill me,” reasoned Gwendolyn.

“You should attend and see what it is that she wishes to see you for,” agreed Cassandra. After a moment she added, “If I recall correctly, she is also the Duke’s mistress and conducted most of her Circle business from his estate. She also led the Circle loyalists against the mage rebellion here in Orlais.”

“Hmm, I suppose she wouldn’t have much to complain about if she was living in a palace instead of being tortured by templars in a drafty tower,” grumbled Gwendolyn.

Cassandra shot her a scathing look.

“I’m not _agreeing _with the rebel mages, I’m just saying that I was not overly fond of my personal experience at the Ostwick Circle,” said Gwendolyn.

“Fair enough,” allowed Cassandra.

As we began to exit the city proper, someone else stopped us—this one an Orlesian elf wearing fine enchanter’s robes. “If I might have a moment of your time?”

We stopped walking and looked at her expectantly as she approached.

“Grand Enchanter Fiona?” said Cassandra.

“Leader of the mage rebellion. Is it not dangerous for you to be here?” asked Solas.

“I heard of this gathering, and I wanted to see the fabled Herald of Andraste with my own eyes,” said Fiona. “If it is help with the Breach you seek, perhaps my people are the wiser option.”

“I’m surprised that the leader of the mages wasn’t at the Conclave,” said Gwendolyn.

“Yes,” agreed Cassandra. “You were supposed to be, and yet somehow you avoided death.”

“As did the Lord Seeker, you’ll note. Both of us sent negotiators in our stead, in case it was a trap. I won’t pretend I’m not glad to live. I lost many dear friends that day. It disgusts me to think the templars will get away with it. I’m hoping you won’t let them,” said Fiona.

“So you think the templars are responsible,” said Gwendolyn doubtfully. She didn’t particularly care for templars in general, but even _she_ didn’t think they blew up the Conclave.

“Why wouldn’t she?” said Cassandra.

“Lucius hardly seems broken up over the losses, if he’s concerned about them at all. You heard him. You think he wouldn’t happily kill the Divine to turn people against us? So, yes, I think he did it. More than I think you did it, at any rate,” said Fiona.

“Well, that’s something, I guess. Does that mean the mages will help us?” asked Gwendolyn.

“We are willing to discuss it with the Inquisition, at least. Consider this an invitation to Redcliffe: come meet with the mages. An alliance could help us both, after all,” said Fiona.

“Come, let us finish our business here and return to Haven,” said Cassandra.

\--- 

That night, as per the instructions from the “Friends of Red Jenny”, we arrived in cover of darkness at the designated courtyard. It appeared empty, but only at first. We hadn’t taken more than five steps in before guards pounced on us.

“It’s the Inquisition’s Herald!” exclaimed one of the guards.

“Well, they know who _I _work for, at least!” said Gwendolyn.

Once we’d cleared the guards out of the first courtyard, we passed through a set of gates down an ally into another courtyard, with Gwendolyn leading the way. But she’d no sooner stepped through the arch than she began having to dodge fireballs from a masked Orlesian nobleman.

“Herald of Andraste! How much did you expend to discover me? It must have weakened the Inquisition immeasurably!” said the nobleman.

“I don’t even know who you are,” said Gwendolyn bluntly.

“You don’t fool me! I’m too important for this to be an accident! My efforts will survive in victories against you elsewhere!” threatened the nobleman.

As he spoke, we could hear arrows flying and guards crying out as they fell. We all turned to see a blonde elf wearing a red tunic over plaid-weave leggings and aiming an arrow at the nobleman.

“Just say ‘what’!” said the elf girl.

“What is the—” began the nobleman, but he didn’t get any farther before an arrow planted itself in his eye and he collapsed to the ground dead.

“Ugh! Squishy one, but you heard me, right? ‘Just say what’. Rich tits always try for more than they deserve,” said the elf as she walked over to the dead nobleman and retrieved her arrow. “Blah, blah, blah obey me, arrow in my face.”

We all stared at her, confused as to what was going on.

“So, you followed my instructions well enough. Glad to see you’re…and you’re just a person. You’re so…plain. And normal. I mean, it’s all good, innit? The important thing is you glow. You’re the Herald of thingy!” said the elf girl.

“Some believe I’m the Herald of Andraste. But who are you and what’s this about?” asked Gwendolyn.

“No idea. I don’t know this idiot from manners. My people just said the Inquisition should look at him,” said the elf girl.

“Your people? Do you mean elves, or…?” said Gwendolyn.

“Ha! No. People people. Name’s Sera,” she said, and then pointed at a box. “This is cover. Get round it. For the reinforcements. Don’t worry. Someone tipped me their equipment shed. They’ve got no breeches!”

Gwendolyn looked at her, either in surprise or mortification. Maybe a little of both.

But despite the lack of breeches among the reinforcements, a handful of guards still chose to show themselves just then, attacking us with arrows and swords. But now there were five of us, and the battle was a short one.

“Friends really came through with that tip. No breeches!” laughed Sera. “So, Herald of Andraste. You’re a strange one. I’d like to join.”

“How about we get to know each other first? You know, names and such?” said Gwendolyn.

“One name. No, wait, two. It’s...well, it’s like this. I sent you a note to look for this stuff by my friends. The Friends of Red Jenny. That’s me. Well, I’m one. So is a fence in Montfort, some woman in Kirkwall. There were three in Starkhaven. Brothers or something. It’s just a name, yeah? It lets little people, ‘Friends’, be part of something while they stick it to nobles they hate. So here, in your face, I’m Sera. ‘The Friends of Red Jenny’ are sort of out there. I used them to help you. Plus arrows,” explained Sera.

“The Inquisition is almost an army now. Can you add to it?” Gwendolyn asked uncertainly.

“Here’s how it is. You ‘important’ people are up here, shoving your cods around. ‘Blah, blah blah, I’ll crush you. I’ll crush _you_!’ Ahem. Then you’ve got generals and oathbelchers, and sure, you have soldiers. Like the dead guys protecting that other dead guy. All those helmets, and what gave them up? Some drunk gets a key lifted because someone else is pissed about bills. So no, I’m not Captain Swordface, all marchy. But if you don’t listen down here too, you risk your breeches. Like those guards. I stole their…look, do you need people or not? I want to get everything back to normal. Like you?”

“All right, Sera. I can use you and your ‘Friends’,” allowed Gwendolyn.

“Yes! Get in good before you’re too big to like. That’ll keep your breeches where they should be. Plus extra breeches because I have all these…you have merchants who buy this pish, yeah? Got to be worth something. Anyway, Haven. See you there, Herald. This will be grand,” said Sera.

And thus, Sera joined the Inquisition.

\---

The party was already in full swing in the vestibule and main ballroom of Duke Bastien’s palace when Gwendolyn arrived, dressed in her crisp new enchanter’s coat of deep teal with sleeves of silver silk. She had never attended a proper Orlesian party before, and was overwhelmed by the extravagance of it all, from the décor to the Orlesian fashions worn by the nobles in attendance.

As she wandered into the ballroom, someone announced, “Lady Gwendolyn Trevelyan of the Ostwick Circle of Magi, on behalf of the Inquisition.”

She strolled inside, taking it all in, and two nobles pounced on the shiny new thing in the room. “What a pleasure to meet you, My Lady. Seeing the same faces at every event becomes so tiresome.”

The noblewoman he was with nodded emphatically, though this was somewhat impeded by her ruff.

“So, you must be a guest of Madame de Fer. Or are you here for Duke Bastien?” asked the nobleman.

“Are you here on business?” asked the noblewoman. “I have heard the most curious tales of you. I cannot imagine half of them are true.”

“What have you heard about me?” Gwendolyn asked curiously.

“Some say that when the Veil opened, Andraste herself delivered you from the Fade,” said the noblewoman.

“I’m not entirely certain what happened with that, but I do know that some of those storytellers may have gotten a tad carried away,” said Gwendolyn.

“But only for the best effect. The Inquisition is a ripe subject for wild tales,” said the noblewoman eagerly.

A nobleman in a ridiculous hat covered with feathers descended the staircase to Gwendolyn’s left. “The Inquisition! What a load of pig shit!” He walked over to Gwendolyn and the two nobles. “Washed up sisters and crazed Seekers? No one can take them seriously. Everyone knows it’s just an excuse for a bunch of political outcasts to grab power.”

Gwendolyn crossed her arms and frowned at the nobleman. “The Inquisition is working to restore peace and order in Thedas, as well as find the Divine’s murderer.”

“Here comes the outsider, restoring peace with an army! We know what your ‘Inquisition’ truly is,” sneered the nobleman as he moved closer to loom over Gwendolyn. “If you were a woman of honor, you’d step outside and answer the charges.”

He had no sooner spoken than he found himself frozen in place, but not of Gwendolyn’s doing.

A velvety voice then spoke as the enchantress descended the stairs, like poison swirling into a glass of wine. She wore a gown of royal sea silk and white leather with a fan behind her. On her head she wore an expensive mask in finest silver with horns like a dragon—Madame de Fer. “My dear Marquis, how unkind of you to use such language in my house…to my guests.” She finished descending the stairs and glided over to them. “You know such rudeness is…intolerable.”

“Madame Vivienne, I humbly beg your pardon!” stammered the nobleman nervously, still frozen in place.

“You should. Whatever am I going to do with you, my dear?” Madame de Fer turned to Gwendolyn, her dark eyes intense and focused. “My Lady, you’re the wounded party in this unfortunate affair. What would you have me do with this foolish, foolish man?”

“The Marquis does not interest me. Do whatever you like with him,” said Gwendolyn.

“Poor Marquis, issuing challenges and hurling insults like some Ferelden dog lord,” said Vivienne, snapping her fingers and releasing the Marquis from his ice spell. He bent over coughing. “And all dressed up in your Aunt Solange’s doublet. Didn’t she give you that to wear to the Grand Tourney? To think, all the brave chevaliers who will be competing left for Markham this morning…and you’re still here. Were you hoping to sate your damaged pride by defeating the Herald of Andraste in a public duel? Or did you think her blade could put an end to the misery of your failure?”

The Marquis said nothing, merely hung his head.

“Run along, my dear. Do give my regards to your aunt,” said Vivienne.

Gwendolyn was at a loss. She’d never seen anyone take down a man with on a few words like that. It was mildly terrifying.

Vivienne turned to focus back on Gwendolyn as the Marquis ran away. “I’m delighted you could attend this little gathering. I’ve so wanted to meet you.”

Vivienne led the way out of the ballroom proper and down an otherwise deserted hallway by a set of large windows. “Allow me to introduce myself. I am Vivienne, First Enchanter of Montsimmard and Enchantress to the Imperial Court.”

Gwendolyn decided to be all business. “Pleased to meet you. Is that marquis going to pose a problem?”

“His aunt is the Vicomtesse of Mont De Glace. Not a powerful family but well respected…and very devout. Alphonse will be disowned for this. It’s not the first time he’s brought his aunt disgrace. But I’m sure it’ll be the last. And after such a public humiliation, I expect he’ll run off to the Dales to join the empress’s war effort. Either to make a good end or to win back a modicum of self-respect,” said Vivienne.

“Your salon has certainly exceeded my expectations so far,” said Gwendolyn.

“I’m glad to keep you entertained, my dear. I wanted to meet face to face. It is important to consider one’s connections carefully. With Divine Justinia dead, the Chantry is in shambles. Only the Inquisition might restore sanity and order to our frightened people. As the leader of the last loyal mages of Thedas, I feel it only right that I lend my assistance to your cause,” said Vivienne.

Gwendolyn did not trust this woman as far as she could throw her, and her upper body strength wasn’t that good. “Is your interest, Madame de Fer, in the Inquisition, or is it more personal?”

The enchantress laughed. “Aren’t you charming? It’s professional, of course.”

Gwendolyn still didn’t like her, but she was rather short on allies, least of all allies of the powerful mage variety with connections. “The Inquisition will be happy to have you, Lady Vivienne.”

“Great things are beginning, my dear. I can promise you that,” said Vivienne.

And with that, Vivienne joined the Inquisition.

\---

In hopes of softening the blow of all the news we’d had, we sent ahead a full report on the events at Val Royeaux along with Gwendolyn’s boxes of treats. But sweets aside, when we arrived back at Haven, Cassandra and Gwendolyn still walked into an argument the moment they entered the chantry.

“It’s good you’ve returned. We heard of your encounter,” said Josephine diplomatically.

“You _heard_?” asked Cassandra, likely wondering just how bad this was about to get.

“My agents in the city sent word ahead, of course. They arrived even before your reports…and gifts. Thank you for those, Herald, by the way,” said Leliana.

“It’s a shame the templars have abandoned their _senses_ as well as the capital,” said Cullen.

“We had to do something, and now we have an opportunity,” said Gwendolyn, irritated at the memory of the templars back in Val Royeaux.

“Yes, and we have the opening we need to approach the templars and the mages,” said Josephine.

“Do we? Lord Seeker Lucius is not the man I remember,” said Cassandra.

“True. He has taken the Order somewhere, but to do what? My reports have been…very odd,” said Leliana.

“We must look into it. I’m certain not everyone in the Order will support the Lord Seeker,” said Cullen.

Of course he still wanted the templars. Gwendolyn wasn’t surprised.

“Or the Herald could simply go to meet the mages in Redcliffe instead,” suggested Josephine.

“You think the mage rebellion is more united? It could be ten times worse!” argued Cullen.

“Or you could stop bickering and make a decision,” said Gwendolyn in exasperation.

“I agree,” said Cassandra.

“We shouldn’t discount Redcliffe. The mages may be worth the risk,” said Josephine.

“They are powerful, Ambassador, but more desperate than you realize,” said Cassandra.

“So it’ll be dangerous. What else is new? I’ve been in danger since I walked out of the Fade,” said Gwendolyn.

“If some among the rebel mages were responsible for what happened at the Conclave…” trailed off Cassandra.

“The same could be said for the templars,” pointed out Josephine.

“True enough. Right now, I’m not certain we have enough influence to approach the Order safely,” said Cullen.

“Then the Inquisition needs agents in more places. That’s something you can help with,” said Cassandra.

“In the meantime, we should consider other options,” said Josephine.

The meeting dispersed, leaving Gwendolyn and Leliana alone in the chantry’s main hall.

“There is one other matter,” prefaced Leliana. “Several months ago, the Grey Wardens of Ferelden vanished. I sent word to those in Orlais, but they have also disappeared. Ordinarily, I wouldn’t even consider the idea that they’re involved in all this, but the timing is…curious.”

“That does sound odd. I agree,” said Gwendolyn.

“The others have disregarded my suspicion, but I cannot ignore it. Two days ago, my agents in the Hinterlands heard news of a Grey Warden by the name of Blackwall. If you have the opportunity, please seek him out. Perhaps he can put my mind at ease,” said Leliana.

“And if he can’t?” asked Gwendolyn.

“Then there may be more going on than we thought,” said Leliana.

There was _always_ more going on than we thought, we just didn’t realize it yet.


	6. Trouble Comes to Haven

In an attempt to integrate the newest important members of the Inquisition, Gwendolyn took Vivienne, Sera, and Cassandra with her on her grand trip to the Hinterlands in search of the Grey Warden Blackwall. Leliana’s scouts had pointed to the lake region of the Hinterlands, near the crossroads, as Warden Blackwall’s most likely location, and so that is where they began.

But as with many plans that sounds good on paper, this particular party was perhaps not the best.

“My dear, this place is simply dreadful. Whatever have the dog lords done with the place?” asked Vivienne.

“What’s a dog lord? A lord of dogs?” asked Sera.

“It is the Orlesian term for Ferelden nobility,” said Cassandra disapprovingly.

“_Oh _so what the rich tits and nobs with masks call the _other _rich tits and nobs who _don’t _have masks. Got it,” said Sera.

“To address the earlier concern, Vivienne, I believe it was the mage-templar war that is responsible for the destruction of the Hinterlands,” said Gwendolyn.

“Oh my dear, I am well aware of _that_. I meant the place in general. It is positively wretched here. The Fereldans do not honestly believe such huts could be qualified as _houses _do they? It is positively barbaric,” said Vivienne.

“They’re farmers. I don’t think farmers live in castles,” said Gwendolyn.

“Perhaps the barely civilized ones. You are of nobility, my dear, you must understand that such poor accommodations are no way to live,” said Vivienne.

“Only nobs live in castles and most nobs deserve an arrow up their arse,” said Sera.

Cassandra shot Gwendolyn a look of ‘why are these people here’, to which Gwendolyn just replied, “I know how you feel, Seeker. Varric is by far the greatest companion I could ever have. I should not have left him behind.”

Or at least, that’s how I like to think it went.

They found Warden Blackwall by a small house on the lake inspecting a handful of conscripts and teaching them how not to die.

“Remember how to carry your shields! You’re not hiding, you’re holding. Otherwise it’s useless,” said Blackwall.

“Blackwall? Warden Blackwall?” asked Gwendolyn as they approached.

“You’re not—How do you know my name? Who sent—” began Blackwall.

He was cut off by the sound of shouts as a group of bandits emerged from the woods and attacked. The Warden rallied his conscripts into action and with some minor assistance of the Inquisitions agents, was able to defeat the onslaught of bandits easily.

The battle over, Blackwall addressed his conscripts. “Good work, conscripts. Even if this shouldn’t have happened. They could’ve—well, thieves are made, not born. Take back what they stole. Go back to your families. You saved yourselves.”

The young conscripts wandered off, taking with them their swords and shields. Once they’d gone, Blackwall returned his attention to Gwendolyn. “You’re no farmer. Why do you know my name? Who are you?”  
“I’m here investigating Grey Wardens for the Inquisition,” said Gwendolyn. “We’re seeing if their disappearance has anything to do with the murder of the Divine.”

“Maker’s balls, the Wardens and the Divine? They can’t—no, you’re asking, so you don’t really know. First off, I didn’t know they disappeared. But we do that, right? No more Blight, job done, Wardens are the first thing forgotten. But one thing I’ll tell you: no Warden killed the Divine. Our purpose isn’t political,” said Blackwall.

Gwendolyn could have sworn that both the King _and _Queen of Ferelden were supposed to be Grey Wardens, but if a Grey Warden said they weren’t political, then she supposed she would have to take his word for it. “So where are the rest of you?”

“I haven’t seen any Wardens for months. I travel alone, recruiting. Not much interest because the Archdemon is a decade dead, and no need to conscript because there’s no Blight coming. Treaties give Wardens the right to take what we need. Who we need. These idiots forced this fight, so I ‘conscripted’ their victims. They had to do what I said, so I told them to stand. Next time they won’t need me. Grey Wardens can inspire, make you better than you think you are,” finished Blackwall.

“Oh, I like this one,” said Sera.

“You’re no help. I’m no further ahead than I was,” said Gwendolyn in frustration.

With that, they started to walk away, with Sera whispering to an unwilling Cassandra about how epic she thought Blackwall’s beard was.

“Inquisition…agent, did you say? Hold a moment,” said Blackwall, following after them. “The Divine is dead and the sky is torn. Events like these, thinking we’re absent is almost as bad as thinking we’re involved. If you’re trying to put things right, maybe you need a Warden. Maybe you need me,” said Blackwall.

“The Inquisition needs all the support it can get, but what can one Grey Warden do?” asked Gwendolyn.

“Save the fucking world, if pressed. Although I suppose Ferelden did have _two_,” said Blackwall. “Look, maybe fighting demons from the sky isn’t something I’m practiced at, but show me someone who is. And like I said, there are treaties. Maybe this isn’t a Blight, but it’s bloody well a disaster. Some will honor them. Being a Warden means something to a lot of people. Especially in Ferelden.”

That was more than enough to convince her. “Warden Blackwall, the Inquisition accepts your offer,” said Gwendolyn.

“Good to hear. We both need to know what’s going on, and perhaps I’ve been keeping to myself for too long. This Warden walks with the Inquisition,” said Blackwall.

And thus, Blackwall joined the Inquisition.

\---

The Herald and her party had just arrived back to Haven with their Warden-related news and were resting up when things at Haven became rather interesting. And not necessarily in a good way.

Cullen was running the daily drills and training the newest batch of recruits when the glint of familiar armor in the midday sun caught his eye. He glanced down the path to see three templars riding down the path on black stallions, the one in the center wearing the armor of a knight-captain. They were either new recruits or trouble, and Cullen had a sinking feeling that he knew which one.

A squire approached the knight-captain and offered to take his horse, only to be screamed at. “Touch my horse, you filth, and I’ll have you flayed alive!”

The squire whimpered an apology and ran away, probably to go cry in a corner somewhere.

Yes, definitely trouble.

Cullen told his second to take over training and went to the gates to address the issue.

“Is there a problem here, gentlemen?” asked Cullen, arms crossed as he glared up at the templars.

The templars dismounted their charges and approached Cullen, the one in the center taking off his helmet to reveal a shock of white-blonde hair and eyes a shade of ocean blue.

“Yes, there is a problem. I demand to be taken to your so-called ‘Herald’. She is an escaped apostate and I will have her returned to me,” demanded the Knight-Captain.

“And you are…?” said Cullen, unfazed.

The Knight-Captain—who stood a full two inches shorter than Cullen and had a narrower build—was doing his upmost to seem grander than the Commander. He approached Cullen and sneered up at him, his eyes as cruel and cold as his sister’s were kind and warm. “I am your superior and a nobleman! You do not demand things of me, you heretic; you follow my orders!”

Cullen immediately understood Gwendolyn’s sentiments towards her brother and templars. He stood to his full height and crossed his arms over his chest, not even remotely intimidated. “I was the Knight-Commander of Kirkwall and now lead the Inquisition’s forces. Now, what business do you have here, Knight-_Captain_?”

“You are harboring a wanted apostate and I will not allow you heretics to stand in the way of me performing my duties!” fumed Knight-Captain Cador Trevelyan.

“With the Circles disbanded and the templars having formally left the Chantry, templars are no longer charged with hunting mages. Furthermore, all mages here are under protection of the Inquisition, and therefore, not yours to hunt,” said Cullen.

The Knight-Captain pulled a slim vial of glowing liquid from his pocket and all but shoved it in Cullen’s face. “I know she’s nearby! So, take me to her like a good little guard dog, why don’t you?”

“Are you perhaps hard of hearing? The Herald of Andraste is under protection of the Inquisition. You are no longer responsible for her safety and I assure you that she is being well cared for here. No need to worry,” said Cullen.

“She belongs home with her family in Ostwick and under the Chantry’s protection!” exclaimed the Knight-Captain.

“The Herald is here of her own volition, as is her right,” said Cullen.

“She is a _mage_. She has no _rights _beyond what we allow her to have. Now run along like a good little dog and fetch her for me, why don’t you?” sneered the Knight-Captain.

“The Herald is a member of the Inquisition and will remain in Haven for the good of all Thedas. Now, I suggest you get back on your horse and return to Ostwick,” said Cullen.

“You’re holding her hostage, you trash! Now hand her over at once! Or need I cut you down first?” threatened the Knight-Captain.

By now, all the soldiers on the training grounds had stopped their sparring and turned to watch. Even Harritt, the rest of the blacksmiths, and those at the smithy were watching the drama unfold. After all, it wasn’t every day that you got to see the Commander face off against a knight-captain in defense of Andraste’s Herald.

Cullen arched an eyebrow in something not altogether dissimilar to amusement. “As I have said before, the Herald is here because she wishes to be, not because we are keeping her locked away for our own personal gain.”

The Knight-Captain drew his sword and lunged at Cullen, but the Commander had not gotten this far by being anything other than an expert swordsman and formidable duelist. Whereas Knight-Captain Cador was all anger and brash movement, Cullen’s blade moved in a swift, calculated fashion, easily outmaneuvering the other man. In only a few moves, he had the Knight-Captain disarmed and knocked to the ground.

The soldiers and even a few of the blacksmiths cheered, but a steely look from their commander quieted them.

With his blade still pointed at the Knight-Captain’s throat, Cullen stepped on the man’s wrist, forcing him to let go of the glowing phylactery still in his hand. “And I’ll be taking this, if you don’t mind.”

Once released, the Knight-Captain scampered to his feet, all fury and wounded pride. “You’ll regret this! You’ll rue the day you dared to cross the Trevelyans!”

“I am sure I will,” said Cullen. “Now kindly remove yourselves from Haven and if I ever see any of you here again, or if you ever threaten her again, you will not live long enough to regret it.”

Cullen stood at the gates and watched the Knight-Captain and his followers ride off, the phylactery now clutched in his hand. He was still standing there when Cassandra and Gwendolyn came running out the front gates, the Herald’s hair still down and damp from her bath.

“Varric said there was a battle, Commander! What is going on?” demanded the Seeker.

“A minor disturbance. The threat has been taken care of and I am reasonably sure that they will not be bothering us again,” said Cullen.

“What happened?” asked Gwendolyn.

Cullen took her hand and deposited the phylactery in it. “Nothing much.”

Gwendolyn stared at the phylactery in disbelief, too stunned to reply.

“Is that…?” said Cassandra in surprise.

“Though I doubt this will be the last we hear of them, at the very least the Trevelyans can no longer track her,” said Cullen.

Gwendolyn was still staring in shock.

“The Trevelyans were here? And you sent them away? Josephine will be beside herself,” said Cassandra.

Cullen settled Cassandra with his customary frown. “I sent away a knight-captain who had less than good intentions for either the Herald or the Inquisition.”

“And you convinced him to forfeit her phylactery in the process?” gasped Cassandra.

“In a sense,” said Cullen.

“You should have seen it, Seeker! The Commander had him beat in only three moves!” called Knight-Captain Rylen, Cullen’s second in command.

Cullen shot him a look.

“You _fought _the man? What were you thinking?” said Cassandra.

“He attacked _me_, Cassandra. I simply saw to it that he did not do so again,” said Cullen.

“You killed him?!” exclaimed Cassandra.

“No, though it would have given me great pleasure to do so. I told him to leave and that if he ever came here again, it would be the last thing he ever did,” said Cullen.

“Well, at least they will cease tracking her, I suppose,” allowed Cassandra.

“Quite,” said Cullen.

“The question remains of what to do with it now that we possess it,” said Cassandra.

“I thought the Herald may wish to decide so for herself,” said Cullen.

“If she ever regains the power of speech,” said Cassandra.

Gwendolyn didn’t trust her voice. They couldn’t possibly fathom what this meant to her. How could they understand how important it was to her that her brother no longer had this? How could she express how grateful she was to have this in her hands? How this, more than anything, meant her absolute freedom? The last thread tying her to her family, finally severed. For the first time in her life, she was actually free and in control over her own fate. The words escaped her to describe just how she felt about her newfound independence, to no longer be her parents’ pawn or her brother’s prisoner. And Maker’s Breath, she owed Cullen a debt of gratitude like no other for this. In that moment, he could probably have asked her to recruit the aid of the templars and she would have agreed.

\---

That evening, a war council meeting was called to discuss the latest trip to the Hinterlands as well as to attend to a handful of other, smaller matters.

“The first order of business must be the Warden treaties. Blackwall has brought them with him and though he has not provided us with as much information as I would have hoped, the treaties may still provide us aid that we desperately need,” said Leliana.

“I agree. We can use them to conscript more soldiers,” said Cullen.

“Or at the very least obtain greater, ahem, donations to our cause,” said Josephine.

“Are we sure that we can even use them? It’s not an actual Blight. And we’re not Grey Wardens,” said Gwendolyn.

“Warden Blackwall has given us the treaties to use at our discretion and though it is not a Blight, some parties may still honor them, given the Breach that threatens us all,” said Josephine.

“So, let me get this straight. These treaties allow us to conscript humans, mages, Dalish elves, and dwarves of Orzammar. How do we do that exactly? Just march into the nearest Dalish camp, shove an old piece of paper at the Keeper and ask politely that they help us?” asked Gwendolyn, looking at Leliana.

“That is quite close to it, yes. Although the Hero of Ferelden occasionally neglected to include ‘politely’,” said Leliana.

“We will be polite,” said Josephine.

“I thought she might actually kill Prince Behlen for sending us on a suicide mission into the Deep Roads,” mused Leliana.

“Not helping,” said Josephine.

“She actually _did _kill some members of the Ferelden nobility to force _their_ compliance. It was all very dramatic,” continued Leliana.

“We are not killing members of nobility,” said Josephine.

“I never said that we should…only maybe that we should consider the threat of it. On occasion,” said Leliana.

Josephine groaned.

“All right, so Grey Warden treaties will be used. Excellent. What’s next?” asked Gwendolyn.

“An invitation arrived this morning from the Teyrn of Highever. They will be holding a memorial service and vigil in the Divine’s honor next week and asks if we wish to attend,” said Josephine.

“We can send an honor guard to attend of those who knew her,” suggested Cullen.

“I was going to suggest a diplomatic party instead to recruit allies while there,” said Josephine.

“If I may, I know the teyrn. I cannot personally attend, but I can write to him, and it will curry us more favor,” said Leliana.

“You know him?” asked Josephine in surprise.

Leliana smiled lightly. “He is the Hero of Ferelden’s brother. We have known each other since the Blight and have occasionally coordinated keeping track of her through the years.”

“All right. Leliana, I think it’s probably best if you handle this, then. You know him, and it will mean more coming from you,” said Gwendolyn.

Leliana nodded.

“The next order of business is somewhat more…sensitive. We must deal with the Herald’s family,” said Josephine.

“Oh, wonderful,” said Gwendolyn.

“Did Cullen not already handle them this afternoon?” asked Cassandra.

“The Commander ‘handled’ only one member of the greater Trevelyan family. Other, far less antagonistic members of the family in Ostwick have since taken to bragging of their connection to the Herald and threatening to have the Inquisition take action against their enemies,” said Josephine.

“How troublesome,” said Cassandra.

“And here I thought that I was so very clear when I told my father to his face that I wanted no further part in his games,” said Gwendolyn.

“I suggest that we use this to our advantage. If we provide the occasional favor for them now, they will be obligated to help us in the future,” said Josephine.

“Ambassador, though I respect your position on the matter, I would sooner gnaw off my own left arm than willingly help these people,” said Gwendolyn.

“Indeed,” said Cassandra.

“I’m not saying that we send assassins…but the _threat_ of assassins…” said Leliana.

“I say we openly denounce these people. The Inquisition is not some inconsequential name to be tossed around in a noble’s flight of fancy,” said Cullen irritably.

“I’m actually with Cullen on this. We’ve worked too hard and the Inquisition is too important to let my horrid relations tarnish what little reputation we have,” said Gwendolyn.

“It must truly be the end of the world if you two are agreeing,” said Leliana with a small smile.

Cullen frowned at her.

“Continuing, the final order of business concerns a Bann in Ferelden. Refugees are flocking to his lands and he is…not pleased. He wishes Inquisition support in removing them from his lands,” said Josephine.

“We can send soldiers, but I would prefer they help the refugees than this lord,” said Cullen.

“He is but a minor noble who is not well liked by his peers. With a few words from the right people, he can be publicly shamed into aiding the refugees,” said Josephine.

“Let’s do that then. Nothing like shaming lords into doing their jobs to make the day a bit brighter, right?” said Gwendolyn.

“Indeed, My Lady,” said Josephine.

“A representative of a mercenary company arrived today requesting that we send someone to watch them work so that we might hire them,” said Cassandra.

“_Really_?” said Gwendolyn.

“The Bull’s Chargers. They will meet us on the Storm Coast if we are interested,” said Cassandra.

“…_Are_ we interested?” asked Gwendolyn.

“Trained professionals would not be unwelcome additions to our cause,” said Cullen.

“I don’t suppose that the Storm Coast is poorly named and it’s actually sunny there all year round?” asked Gwendolyn.

“No,” said Cassandra.

“Wonderful,” grimaced Gwendolyn.

“The last sightings of Grey Wardens in Ferelden were also in that area. I can have my people scout the area and prepare for your arrival,” said Leliana.

After a few other details were attended to, the war council was dismissed, and everyone dispersed. Leliana held Gwendolyn back to talk over a few details about the Wardens and what to look for on the Storm Coast but let her go fairly quickly.

Gwendolyn left the chantry and squinted through the darkness for the person she was looking for. After all, he could usually be found in his command tent, working well into the night. The only question was whether or not he was already there.

She jogged down the main path and caught up with Cullen just before he passed the tavern, absentmindedly scanning documents as he went.

“Cullen, err, Commander! Do you have a moment?” asked Gwendolyn as she ran over to him.

Cullen stopped walking and looked at her expectantly. “Is something the matter?”

“Well, no, it’s just…I never thanked you for earlier. My brother’s always been awful, and I spent most of my life being terrified of him, even before he was assigned to the Ostwick Circle as a templar. I am grateful beyond words for what you did and for getting my phylactery from him like you did, and I just wanted to say thank you. I owe you a debt of gratitude. Truly,” said Gwendolyn.

“You are the Herald of Andraste and the only weapon we have against the rifts and the only hope we have of closing the Breach. Knight-Captain Cador interfered with that. I was just doing my duty,” said Cullen.

“Oh. Well, yes. I suppose he did. And you were. In any case, I just wanted to thank you anyway. Good evening, Commander,” said Gwendolyn, deflating slightly. She wasn’t sure what she expected.

She walked off then, disappearing into the night, presumably to return to her quarters.

“That’s not how you talk to girls, Curly,” I said, leaning against the doorframe to the tavern.

“Pardon?” said Cullen, turning to look at me.

“She was _trying _to thank you for doing something nice for her, and _you _showed the emotional breadth of a brick wall,” I said.

“I was just doing my duty as Commander of the Inquisition,” said Cullen.

“And in the process changed her life for the better. This isn’t Kirkwall anymore and you’re not a templar; you’re _allowed _to be friendly to the nice mage girl if you want,” I said.

“That’s not…it’s not…Maker’s Breath, it’s not like that,” said Cullen.

“If you say so, Curly. But if this were one of my books, it would be,” I said.


	7. Weather and Waves

Say what you want about Ferelden, but they didn’t mince words when they named these places. The Storm Coast is cold and damp at best, miserable at worst. A semi-permanent thunderstorm was rumbling overhead when we arrived, the clouds only a shade lighter than the volcanic rock outcroppings everywhere. In the distance, a dragon’s shriek could be heard, followed by a giant’s roar. Really, there was no reason to want to be there. Unless, that is, you were trying to recruit some mercenaries or track down some missing Grey Wardens.

We met Scout Harding, and she seemed about as happy to be there as we were.

“Your Worship! For what it’s worth, welcome to the Storm Coast,” said Harding. “I would have sent word sooner, but our efforts have been…delayed.”  
“How so?” asked Gwendolyn.

“There’s a group of bandits operating in the area. They know the terrain, and our small party has had trouble going up against them. Some of our soldiers went to speak with their leader. Haven’t heard back though,” said Harding.

“I’ll do what I can to find our people,” said Gwendolyn.

“Thank you, Your Worship. That’s a relief,” said Harding. “The soldiers didn’t have an exact location, but they were starting their search farther down the beach. With all this fuss, we haven’t been able to conduct a proper search for the Wardens, either. Well, good luck, and enjoy the sea air. I hear it’s good for the soul.”

With that, we headed down the rocky path to the beach, which was also little more than a rocky path, just now with an ocean next to it. We heard the sounds of fighting from a distance, and it wasn’t long before we stumbled upon a band of mercenaries led by a hulking Qunari with an eyepatch—The Iron Bull—fighting off a group of Tevinter soldiers. And, as was our custom, we joined in the fray, assisting the mercenaries and warding off the Tevinters. What were Tevinters doing on the Storm Coast anyway?

Once the fighting had ended, the Iron Bull addressed his people. “Chargers! Stand down! Krem! How’d we do?”

His lieutenant stood ready to report. “Five or six wounded, chief. No dead.”

“That’s what I like to hear. Let the throatcutters finish up, then break out the casks,” said the Iron Bull. With that, he looked over at Gwendolyn. “So, you’re with the Inquisition, huh? Glad you could make it. Come on, have a seat. Drinks are coming.”

“Nicely done. I hear you’re looking for work,” said Gwendolyn.

“I am! Not before my drink, though,” said the Qunari.

He led her over to the remnants of a campfire and he sat down. Gwendolyn remained standing, looking at him expectantly. The lieutenant returned, presumably to report back.

“I assume you remember Cremisius Aclassi, my lieutenant? He’s the one I sent to your base,” said the Qunari.

“Good to see you. Throatcutters are done, chief,” said the lieutenant—Krem.

“Already? Have ‘em check again. I don’t want any of those Tevinter bastards getting away. No offense, Krem,” said Iron Bull.

“None taken. Least a bastard knows who his mother was. Puts him one up on you Qunari, right?” said Krem before walking away.

“So…you’ve seen us fight. We’re expensive, but we’re worth it. And I’m sure the Inquisition can afford us,” said Iron Bull.

“The Chargers seem like an excellent company,” said Gwendolyn.

“They are. But you’re not just getting the boys. You’re getting me. You need a frontline bodyguard, I’m your man. Whatever it is—demons, dragons? The bigger the better. And there’s one other thing. Might be useful. Might piss you off. Ever hear of the Ben-Hassrath?” asked Iron Bull.

“The what?” asked Gwendolyn blankly.

“It’s a Qunari order. They handle information, loyalty, security, all of it. Spies, basically. Or, well, _we’re_ spies. The Ben-Hassrath are concerned about the Breach. Magic out of control like that could cause trouble everywhere. I’ve been ordered to join the Inquisition, get close to the people in charge, and send reports on what’s happening. But I also _get _reports from Ben-Hassrath agents all over Orlais. You sign me on, I’ll share them with your people,” explained Iron Bull.

“All right, you’re in,” said Gwendolyn.

“Excellent,” said Iron Bull before turning to his men. “Krem! Tell the men to finish drinking on the road. The Chargers just got hired!”

“What about the casks, chief? We just opened them up. With _axes_,” said Krem.

“Find some way to seal them. You’re Tevinter, right? Try blood magic,” joked Iron Bull. He turned back to the Herald. “We’ll meet you back at Haven.”

And with that, The Iron Bull and the Bull’s Chargers joined the Inquisition.

As the Chargers packed up, we headed down the beach in search of our missing people. The Waking Sea crashed angrily against the rocky shore, foaming waves battering the beach and spindleweed that grew there.

It was something of a dreary, miserable walk, so I tried to lighten the mood. “Ah, the Waking Sea. Somewhere on the other side of that is Kirkwall. Seems not long ago we were coming this way, huh, Seeker?”

“Do not remind me, Varric,” said Cassandra irritably.

“You know you like me, Seeker,” I said.

“I know no such thing,” said Cassandra.

“You two ever been to Kirkwall?” I asked of Solas and Gwendolyn.

“Though I have never visited in person, I have seen all that it was and is in my travels through the Fade,” said Solas.

“Gotcha. What about you, Princess?” I asked.

“I’ve never been. A few years ago, some of the enchanters from the Circle got to go, and my roommate tried to convince me to go, but I never went,” said Gwendolyn.

“Demon of a brother not let you?” I asked.

“That, and Maxine’s reasoning was just terrible. ‘_Your heart is in Kirkwall’_. No, my heart is in my chest where it has always been and always will be, barring some crazed blood mage removing it. I mean, she said some bizarre things over the years, but that was just ridiculous,” said Gwendolyn.

“She likely referred to a person—the object of your affection,” said Solas.

She looked at him like he was crazy. “I have never been to Kirkwall, nor did I have an object of affection to speak of, ergo, it was nonsense.”

“She was a seer—perhaps she referred to future events,” said Solas.

“Or perhaps that was nonsense. Look, either way, the trip was annoying for everyone involved, okay? The ones of us left behind were mad that we didn’t get to see something other than the inside of our Circle tower, the templars were peeved that their mages were doing anything of interest, and the ones that _did _go wouldn’t shut up about it when they got back. You know how annoying that was? I had to listen to seven girls giggling about how the Knight-Captain of Kirkwall was cute for _weeks_. Weeks! What were they doing crushing on templars anyway?” ranted Gwendolyn.

“How many years ago was this?” I asked.

“I don’t know, six? Seven?” said Gwendolyn.

I tried to contain my laughter. “Then you know who the Knight-Captain of Kirkwall was?” I asked.

“Nope,” said Gwendolyn.

“Cullen,” I said.

She groaned and stopped walking, running her hands over her face. “Are you serious? Please tell me you’re joking. Varric, I don’t want to live with the knowledge that people I knew were infatuated with that man.”

“He was very much the Knight-Captain of Kirkwall and we all know what he looks like, so it shouldn’t come as a surprise,” I said.

“I recruited the Commander for his military prowess and for the leadership he showed after the events in Kirkwall, not for his appearance,” said Cassandra.

“Keep telling yourself that, Seeker,” I said.

“Ugh, I’m not going to be able to even look at him in the war room again,” said Gwendolyn.

I decided to just keep going with this. “Chuckles, who do you think would win in a fight: Cassandra or Leliana?”

“I am right here,” said Cassandra.

“Is Cullen not an option?” said Solas.

“Like I said, they just keep him around to look pretty,” I said.

“It would have to depend on the circumstances. If it’s in open combat or melee, I would say that Cassandra has the clear advantage. But if it’s just in general and anything goes, then I feel like Leliana could kill you and you would never suspect a thing. I mean, she also helped to kill an Archdemon, so there’s that too. But like I said, if it’s a test of overall strength and combat prowess, I feel like Cassandra would still win,” said Gwendolyn.

“Thank you for the vote of confidence,” said Cassandra.

“But who would win between Cassandra and Cullen?” asked Solas.

“Cassandra,” Gwendolyn and I said automatically.

She looked at us both in surprise. “Commander Cullen is an excellent warrior, you know.”

“That ridiculous fur thing he wears _has _to impede his fighting capability. Besides, you could destroy him with one look,” said Gwendolyn.

“Though the Commander did defeat Knight-Captain Cador in a matter of seconds,” said Solas.

“Did you see it happen?” asked Gwendolyn.

“Indeed. There was a rather impressive display of posturing before the Knight-Captain attacked and the Commander defeated him,” said Solas.

“On a scale of wildly unpleasant to homicidal, how would you rate my brother’s fury?” asked Gwendolyn.

“He called the Commander your guard dog and threatened to bring the wrath of the Trevelyan family down upon him and the Inquisition for crossing them,” said Solas.

“Just what the Inquisition didn’t need: my family causing trouble for everyone,” said Gwendolyn.

“They are a minor nuisance and are irrelevant to our purposes,” said Casandra.

With that, we arrived at the rendezvous point, only to be ambushed by bandits and stumble upon the dead bodies of the Inquisition soldiers. The bandits proved to be skilled, but we defeated them with ease.

“These are _our_ men,” said Gwendolyn as she knelt down next to an old corpse.

“Indeed, the party Harding mentioned. This is despicable,” said Cassandra distastefully.

We’d found our people in one of a series of rundown shacks on a beachside hill. Solas went inside the nearest one and emerged with a few pieces of paper. “The bandits are part of a group called the Blades of Hessarian. They had a headquarters not far from here. The soldiers were tracking them.”

“Well, at least we have a name for our enemy now,” said Gwendolyn.

“We should check the other houses and see if they can provide other evidence,” said Cassandra.

We searched around, and while mostly we only found stray supplies or the odd dagger lying about, Gwendolyn found something curious.

“Well, this is interesting,” she said after finding what seemed to be a page that had fallen out of a journal.

“What is it?” asked Cassandra.

“It’s a page of a Grey Warden’s diary. Apparently, they were under orders to look for someone in the area, but had no luck in finding him, then she writes something about a darkspawn’s song and dreams getting worse,” said Gwendolyn.

“We must tell Leliana. She will wish to know,” said Cassandra.

“In the meantime, we should investigate these bandits,” said Solas.

We left the hill and followed the map to where our soldiers had thought the headquarters was. As it turned out, the bandits weren’t exactly hiding. Instead, they had a sizable a wooden fortress, complete with practice grounds and mabari cages, in true Ferelden fashion. They were even so kind as to emblazon their group’s heraldry on the walls for easy identification.

As we approached the front gates, the two guards asked, “Have you come to challenge?”

“Indeed I have,” said Gwendolyn, who had no idea who she was challenging or what for.

“Then you may proceed,” said the guards.

They allowed us through the main gates and into a dusty, dirty, glorified excuse for a fort. A hulking Ferelden man with an axe strapped to his back stood by the far wall glaring at us, and he could only be the bandit leader.

“Who dares challenge the Blades of Hessarian?” he demanded.

“You and your bandits killed Inquisition soldiers,” accused Gwendolyn as she strode over to him without fear.

“Then you dare challenge _me_?” he demanded.

“You killed our people, so yes, I fully intend to avenge them,” said Gwendolyn.

In line with her luck, the bandit leader attacked then, nearly taking her head clear off with his axe. But Gwendolyn’s reflexes were excellent, and she dodged the attack without getting even a hair so much as out of place, just as Solas cast a barrier over her. The bandit leader was clearly the stronger of the two, but his axe swings were slow, and Gwendolyn’s magic was powerful. In seemingly no time at all, the bandit leader was frozen in ice and then shattered into a puddle.

It took only a few moments for a few of the bandits to run over and take a knee before her. “You have defeated our leader in combat. The Blades of Hessarian are yours to command, Your Worship.”

“Well, this should be interesting,” said Solas.

“What is your command, Your Worship?” asked one of the bandits.

“If I’m your leader, then you serve the Inquisition now. I want you to make peace with the Inquisition soldiers stationed here and assist them in patrolling the area. If you find anything pertaining to Grey Wardens, report it immediately,” said Gwendolyn.

“Yes, Your Worship,” said one of the bandits.

They stood up and went away to go tell the rest of the Blades of Hessarian.

“We are recruiting from anywhere now, it would seem,” said Cassandra distastefully.

“They know the area and apparently they’re loyal, so…” said Gwendolyn.

Cassandra shot her a look.

“We should return to Haven and prepare to meet with the templars or mages. By now we must be able to approach either,” said Solas.

“I agree. The sooner we seal the Breach, the better,” said Cassandra. 

\---

We arrived back at Haven to find all of our new recruits making themselves at home. Sera was living it up in the tavern, spending time with ‘people people’. Vivienne was in the chantry bemoaning the location and reading. Blackwall was at the stables making friends with the horses. Iron Bull and Krem were out by the training grounds with the rest of the Chargers alternating between training and drinking, which admittedly may have just been part of their training.

“How are you finding Haven?” asked Gwendolyn as she approached them.

Iron Bull nodded towards the training grounds where Cullen was once more supervising, arms crossed and barking orders. “Cullen’s putting that templar training to good use. Those recruits will be a formidable force once he’s done with them.”

“How’d you know he was a templar?” she asked curiously.

“Ben-Hassrath, remember? Besides, it’s in the way they hold their shields, angled like that. It’s smart. The vints do it too. Keeps nasty things like poison from getting you. Now if only he could teach them to make a decent shield wall, you’d be unstoppable,” said Iron Bull.

“Ah. Okay then,” said Gwendolyn.

“The problem you guys have isn’t the quality of your recruits or your army, it’s at the top. You have no leader,” said Iron Bull.

“Cassandra’s our leader,” said Gwendolyn automatically.

“From what I understand, a Seeker’s a bit like a Ben-Hassrath. She’s an excellent hunter and warrior, but can’t lead an organization like this,” said Iron Bull.

“Well, then there’s Leliana—” began Gwendolyn.

“The spymaster? No,” said Iron Bull.

“Okay, well, clearly Cullen—”

“Is the commander of the army, not your leader. He can’t do all the ass kissing and diplomacy. He leads an army, but you need someone to lead a movement,” said Iron Bull.

Gwendolyn was getting annoyed. “Fine. Then Josephine, our ambassador—”

“Is an ambassador and in charge of public relations but could never lead an army. Your Inquisition needs an Inquisitor,” said Iron Bull.

“Well, I suppose, but it seems to be working pretty well for now, right? I know Cassandra and Leliana tried to find the Hero of Ferelden and the Champion of Kirkwall to take the job, but they had no luck,” said Gwendolyn.

“You don’t need some jaded old hero who thinks they’ve seen it all, you need fresh blood, but fresh blood that will rise to the occasion. You don’t need a Hero or a Champion, you need an Inquisitor,” he reiterated.

“Guess I’d better get back to recruiting then,” said Gwendolyn.

“Good luck with that, Boss,” said Iron Bull.

As Gwendolyn wandered off, Krem looked over at Iron Bull. “You think she realizes that she’s basically already in charge, chief?”

“Nope,” said Iron Bull.

Blackwall seemed occupied with the horses and Sera was drunkenly singing along to a tavern song, so Gwendolyn headed up to the chantry to check up on everyone else. As she was walking by the spymaster’s tent, she overheard something rather disturbing and had to stop.

“Butler’s betrayed us. Fisher was one of my agents. We can’t let this happen. Take care of him,” Leliana was saying darkly.

The scout she was speaking with nodded and made to leave, only to be stopped by Gwendolyn entering the tent. “You can’t just _kill _people.”

“Butler betrayed us. He killed one of our best. He needs to die for his crimes,” said Leliana.

Gwendolyn was mortified. “Or you could _not _kill him and instead just bring him in and interrogate him, find a way to use this to our advantage.”

Leliana pursed her lips, and after a moment of staring daggers at the Herald, caved. “Fine. Bring him in, but do not kill him. Yet.”

The scout nodded and ducked out of the tent.

“You and Josephine with your pacifism,” scoffed Leliana. 

“If we assassinate everyone who disagrees with us, there won’t be anyone left,” said Gwendolyn.

Leliana clearly didn’t agree but returned to her paperwork instead of replying.

Sensing that _she _might be assassinated if she stayed in that tent any longer, Gwendolyn headed into the chantry, hopefully to chat with Josephine. Josephine was always just so _nice_ and like human sunshine, really. She balanced out the other advisors’ doom and gloom perfectly.

But as this just seemed to be the way her day was going, Gwendolyn only made it a few feet into the chantry before she was stopped by Vivienne.

“There you are, my dear. I have been looking for you,” said Vivienne as she glided over to her.

“Oh? What for?” asked Gwendolyn curiously.

“You are from the Ostwick Circle, yes?” she asked.

“I am,” said Gwendolyn.

“I was there for a brief time before I was moved to the Montsimard Circle some years ago. Did you perhaps know First Enchanter Lydia? She was a dear friend of mine,” said Vivienne.

Gwendolyn’s distaste for Vivienne lessened substantially. “She saw to most of my education. She was like a mother to me.”

“Oh, I am so glad to hear it, my dear. She was such a lovely woman, was she not? I heard that she was slain by one of her students when the Circle fell. Such a dreadful business,” said Vivienne.

“Extremely so,” agreed Gwendolyn.

“You have been given a great deal of power, my dear. I wonder, what will you do with it?” asked Vivienne.

“Hopefully change things for the better and make the world a less chaotic and dangerous place,” said Gwendolyn.

“Be careful _how _much you change, my dear. Change angers many and you are at something of a loss for allies as it is,” said Vivienne.

“Well, you know what they say about well-behaved women and history,” said Gwendolyn.

“You are already making history, my dear. The question is only whether you will be remembered as the hero who sealed the Breach and saved the world or the villain who destroyed it all,” said Vivienne.

“Wonderful,” said Gwendolyn.

“Keep in mind your legacy as you choose your allegiances. You would not wish to add to the chaos, I hope,” said Vivienne.

With that, she swaggered away to be condescending somewhere else.

Gwendolyn shook her head, walked about ten more steps, then ran into Mother Giselle.

“Lady Herald, if you have a moment,” said Mother Giselle.

Gwendolyn sighed internally and stopped to talk. “Of course. Thank you for all your help, Mother Giselle.”

“How fairs your quest to seal the Breach?” she asked.

“Oh, you know how it is. Or at least, I hope someone does,” said Gwendolyn.

“You jest to bring light in a dark time. So many feel humor to be antithetical to the Chant of Light, but they forget that Andraste was a person as well, who loved and was loved by many. I like to think that she too found time for laughter during her trials. A task such as closing the Breach is a heavy burden. I hope you do not carry it alone. We remember Andraste, but Andraste did not carry the Chant of Light alone. She had generals, advisors, even her husband for a time. Do everything within your power, but remember those who would help you,” said Mother Giselle.

“You’re comparing me to Andraste? Do you realize how unnerving that is?” said Gwendolyn.

“Andraste forged her own path, guided as she was by her visions. Look to her for guidance, but the Maker has made this your task to fulfill. In any case, I pray this Inquisition proves less brutal than its predecessor,” said Mother Giselle.

As if Gwendolyn was anxious about this enough already. “Well, thank you, Mother Giselle. Let me know if there is anything I can do to assist in your efforts with the healers.”

“Andraste guide you, Lady Herald,” said Mother Giselle.

Gwendolyn had forgotten why it was that she bothered to enter the chantry to begin with, so she left the chantry and returned to her quarters, hoping for a nap, only to find a stack of paperwork waiting for her on the little desk in the corner. With an exhausted sigh, she sat down and set to work sifting through a week’s worth or reports and documents for her to sign.

This lasted an hour before she got distracted by the phylactery that sat on her desk glowing brighter than the candle beside it. What was she supposed to do with this damn thing anyway? It was indestructible, so she couldn’t just immolate it, but surely keeping it around was a recipe for disaster.

As she sat there, Gwendolyn came to a decision, grabbed the phylactery off the desk, and headed back out into the cold.

She found Cassandra on the training grounds attacking a training dummy.

“Cassandra?” asked Gwendolyn.

Cassandra ceased her assault and looked at the Herald expectantly. “Is something the matter?”

Gwendolyn wasn’t quite sure how to phrase this. “I’ve been thinking…about this whole phylactery situation. You have no idea what it means to me that I have this now, but…”

“But you understand the problems associated with you keeping it,” reasoned Cassandra. 

Gwendolyn sighed in frustration and ran a hand through her white-blonde waves. “I want to keep it, because it means that no one is tracking me or keeping me on some leash. But if I keep it here in Haven, then anyone can just steal it from my quarters, and it could easily fall into the wrong hands. If I take it with me everywhere, then it could fall out of my pocket or it could fall into enemy hands. Which would be bad.”

“This is all very true. Then what do you intend?” asked Cassandra.

“Well, I can’t destroy the blasted thing, so I figured that if someone was going to have it, it might as well be the leaders of the Inquisition so that if something bad _does _happen, someone here will at least know where to find me,” reasoned Gwendolyn, although it was evident that this conclusion had not been an easy one for her to reach.

Cassandra nodded, approving this decision. “That is likely wise. Bring it to Cullen. He is chiefly in charge of security and will undoubtedly guard it with his life.”

Gwendolyn seemed mildly uncomfortable with that. “Are you certain?”

Cassandra rolled her eyes. “He is not a templar anymore. He will not hunt you down like a rabid animal with it. You have no reason to be so violently opposed to one another.”

“Fine, fine, I get the point. Do you know where he is?” Gwendolyn conceded. The Commander was not running training as usual.

“Likely in the command tent seeing to troop movements,” said Cassandra.

Gwendolyn nodded and went to go find him.

Just as Cassandra had said, Cullen was in the command tent at the desk pouring over maps and reports, clearly very focused on the task at hand. He didn’t even notice when she entered the tent.

“Commander? Do you have a moment?” asked Gwendolyn.

He didn’t even look up from his work. “Is there something on your mind?”

She strode over and set the phylactery down on the map in front of him and he looked up in surprise. “Understand that I do not do this lightly, but Cassandra and I have agreed that this is probably for the best. If I keep it, something might happen to it or it might fall into the wrong hands, but if you have it, then if someone kidnaps me or something, at least the Inquisition will be able to track me down.”

“Are you quite certain?” asked Cullen.

“Not really, so take it before I change my mind,” said Gwendolyn.

Cullen nodded slowly and carefully picked up the phylactery. “I will take care of it. You have my word.”

Gwendolyn wanted to say something, remembered out of the blue that this was the same man who half of her Circle had lusted after for months, turned a bit pink, and then abruptly left the tent without another word, leaving Cullen more than a little confused about what exactly had just happened.


	8. The Magister of Redcliffe

Redcliffe Road had probably seen better days as we strolled down the semi-paved path towards the city gates. Even with the obvious rebuilding efforts that had been made, the Blight and repeated tragedies in the city had all but crippled Redcliffe through the years, leaving much of its infrastructure damaged. Ruins from the Blight now mixed in with ruins of recent battles, making the proud, long suffering city almost to appear in pain.

As we approached the city gates, we discovered that Redcliffe’s suffering was not yet over. A Fade rift hovered just in front of the gates and frightened soldiers were running around trying to cope.

“Turn back! We can’t open the gates until the threat has passed!” called one of them as we approached.

But you see, closing Fade rifts was becoming something of a specialty of ours, so rather than running away, we drew our weapons and plunged into battle. From the very onset, it was clear that this was no ordinary Fade rift. Oh, it still spit demons everywhere, but time was distorted around it now. Odd, swirling circles on the ground alternated speeding time up and slowing it down, making fighting these demons all the more difficult. But fight them we did, and as always, the Herald closed and sealed the rift.

“What…was that?” she asked.

“We don’t know what these rifts can do. That one appeared to alter the time around it,” said Cassandra.

“There are many mages in Redcliffe. Maybe Fiona will know what’s going on,” said Gwendolyn.

A soldier ran forward. “Maker have mercy! It’s over? Open the gates!”

Another soldier opened the gate, allowing us to pass through into the city, where an Inquisition scout ran over to us.

“We spread word the Inquisition was coming, but you should know that no one here was expecting us,” said the scout.

“No one? Not even Grand Enchanter Fiona?” asked Gwendolyn in confusion.

“If she was, she hasn’t told anyone,” said the scout. “We’ve arranged use of the tavern for negotiations.”

An elven mage jogged up to us, looking a bit flustered. “Agents of the Inquisition, my apologies! Magister Alexius is in charge now but hasn’t yet arrived. He’s expected shortly. You can speak with the former Grand Enchanter in the meantime.”

With that, he walked away, leaving us standing around dumbfounded.

“Well, something fishy is going on here, and I don’t mean by the docks,” said Gwendolyn.

“A Tevinter Magister? In Redcliffe? Arl Teagan must be in a frenzy! Exactly what is going on here?” wondered Cassandra.

“Nothing good, Seeker. That’s for damn sure,” I said.

“Maybe _former_ Grand Enchanter Fiona will provide some explanation as to why in the world she invited us, claims not to have, and has made a mess of Redcliffe,” said Gwendolyn.

“Then let us go investigate. This whole situation reeks of corruption,” said Cassandra.

We headed down the old, broken road, past ruined windmills and remnants of decade old destruction, and into the town proper. Standing at the top of the hill, looking down at the city below, Redcliffe was easily one of the rare gems in Ferelden. With quaint little houses, a bustling trade district, a hulking castle on a nearby hill, rocky mountains with massive waterfalls, and a breathtaking view of Lake Calenhad, the place seemed damn near ideal. What had been all but destroyed during the Blight had been rebuilt stronger and better than before, and now seemed exactly like the kind of place you could want to live.

We strolled through town, passing by worried townsfolk and panicked mages alike, and into the heart of the town. Surrounded by little shops, the town square was dominated by a massive stature of a griffon with a crown about its neck standing triumphant on a mound of darkspawn. What might have been horrible years ago and a terrifying reminder to some, now was surrounded by rose bushes and had small children climbing on it and laughing. An inscription on the side dedicated it to the bravery and deeds of the Hero of Ferelden and Champion of Redcliffe, Flora Cousland, for saving Redcliffe on multiple occasions, protecting the arl and his family, for defeating the Archdemon, ending the Blight, and restoring peace and order to the kingdom.

“Leliana was there for that,” said Cassandra.

“You mean the Archdemon?” asked Gwendolyn.

“And Redcliffe. When the Hero of Ferelden saved the city from both the desire demon possessing and arl’s son and the darkspawn, she and those who accompanied her were all named Champions of Redcliffe. Leliana is one of them,” said Cassandra.

“Isn’t Ferelden’s king also from here or something?” asked Gwendolyn. Ferelden history and politics weren’t exactly a high priority in the Ostwick Circle.

“Indeed. Redcliffe is the most important city in all of Ferelden next to Denerim. Many would say that it is even _more _important than Denerim. If it has once more fallen into the hands of dark forces, there will undoubtedly be consequences,” said Cassandra.

That rather bleak possibility hanging over our heads now, we headed down the road and up a staircase to the local tavern, which was evidently a very popular watering hole, based on the number of residents and mages that were hanging about.

We entered the tavern and found it dimly lit and largely devoid of activity, save for Grand Enchanter Fiona and a few of her attendants on the far side of the room.

“Welcome, agents of the Inquisition,” she said. “What has brought you to Redcliffe?”

“_You_ invited us. You came all the way to Val Royeaux to invite us,” frowned Gwendolyn.

“You must be mistaken. I haven’t been to Val Royeaux since before the Conclave,” said Fiona.

“Well, that’s a bit strange, because someone who looked exactly like you and claimed to be you spoke to me in Val Royeaux,” said Gwendolyn.

“Exactly like me? I suppose it could be magic at work, but why would anyone…” Fiona shook her head and then looked at Gwendolyn. “Whoever…or whatever brought you here, the situation has changed. The free mages have already…pledged themselves to the service of the Tevinter Imperium.”

“You _what_?!” gaped Gwendolyn.

“I’m trying to think of a worse thing you could have done, and I’ve got nothing,” I said.

“An alliance with Tevinter? Do you not fear all of Thedas turning against you?” said Cassandra.

“I understand that you are afraid, but you deserve better than slavery to Tevinter,” said Solas.

“As one indentured to a magister, I no longer have the authority to negotiate with you,” said Fiona.

Gwendolyn was _pissed_. “So, you’re just going to ignore the gaping hole in the sky in favor of this sad excuse for self-preservation?”

“The more pressing threat was the templars. We needed protection and this alliance provides us that,” said Fiona.

Gwendolyn swore violently under her breath.

Before Gwendolyn could properly lay into Fiona for making the worst conceivable alliance in history, the door to the tavern opened to admit a middle-aged Tevinter magister and a younger Tevinter warrior.

“Welcome, my friends! I apologize for not greeting you earlier,” said the magister.

“Agents of the Inquisition allow me to introduce Magister Gereon Alexius,” said Fiona.

“The southern mages are under my command. And you are the survivor, yes? The one from the Fade? Interesting,” said the magister.

“I’m here to get mages to close the Breach,” said Gwendolyn tersely.

“Right to business! I understand, of course,” said Alexius.

He strode over and sat at a table, motioning for Gwendolyn to do the same. She sat down uneasily, not at all happy with how this was turning out.

“Felix, would you send for a scribe, please? Pardon my manners. My son, Felix, friends,” said Alexius as he gestured to the younger man.

The younger man—Felix—bowed to Gwendolyn and then left the room.

“I am not surprised you’re here. Containing the Breach is not a feat that many could even attempt,” said Alexius. “There is no telling how many mages would be needed for such an endeavor. Ambitious, indeed.”

“I’ll take every mage you can give me,” said Gwendolyn. Personal feelings on the matter aside, the hole in the sky had to take precedence. And she’d be damned if she was going to admit defeat and go to the templars for help instead. The smug look Cullen would give her just wouldn’t be worth it.

“There will have to be—” began Alexius.

Just then, Felix returned to the room, his gait awkward and precarious. He stumbled towards the table and both Gwendolyn and Alexius jumped to their feet, just as Felix collapsed, straight into Gwendolyn’s arms. She wasn’t exactly expecting that, but Felix recovered enough to detach himself from her and lean on the table for support instead.

“Felix!” cried Alexius.

“I’m so sorry! Please forgive my clumsiness, My Lady,” said Felix, clearly in pain.

Alexius approached his son and carefully placed a hand on his back. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine, Father,” said Felix.

“Come, I’ll get your powders. Please excuse me, friends. We will have to continue this another time,” said Alexius. With that, he and Felix began to leave the room. “Fiona, I require your assistance back at the castle.”

Fiona nodded and followed after.

“I don’t mean to trouble everyone,” said Felix apologetically.

“I shall send word to the Inquisition. We will conclude this business at a later date,” said Alexius.

As the door opened and the three of them left, Gwendolyn held up the piece of parchment that Felix had stuffed into her hand as he fell. “Come to the chantry. You are in danger.”

As the tavern began to once more fill with people, Cassandra asked, “Did the magister’s son give you that? Why would he help you?”

“We’ll be careful, but we need to figure out what’s going on here,” said Gwendolyn.

“Nothing good, that’s for sure,” I said.

Before Gwendolyn could reply, there came a disgusted sound from behind us, followed by a woman saying, “Ugh, it’s _you_.”

Gwendolyn turned to see an enchanter glaring at her with crossed arms and a sour expression.

“Pardon? Do I know you?” she asked.

The enchanter fixed her with a look of disdain. “You wouldn’t remember, would you? I was three years behind you at the Ostwick Circle, but you wouldn’t bother to notice. Too busy being little miss perfect, becoming the youngest senior enchanter in Ostwick Circle history while I barely passed my Harrowing. Now look at you, just the Chantry’s little mouthpiece.”

“Why does everyone think we’re with the Chantry? The Chantry hates us,” said Gwendolyn in exasperation.

“I always knew you were rotten deep inside. No one spends that much time with templars and comes out smelling like a rose. _You _couldn’t even be bothered to stand with us in the end. _You _had to go and be all pacifistic and anti-war, as if the templars were _ever _going to see reason. Serves you right to be their pet mage now,” said the enchanter.

Gwendolyn pinched her brow. “You can’t seriously think that being indentured to a Tevinter magister is better than the Circle.”

“Why not? The Chantry feeds us lies about Tevinter because they’re afraid we’ll figure out how great life could actually be without the Circle. They lie to us about the dangers of blood magic, but what’s so wrong about blood magic?” said the enchanter.

“And people wonder why I didn’t join the blasted rebellion,” grumbled Gwendolyn before turning to us. “Let’s go see what’s going on in the chantry, yes?”

“Go on, run away. It’s what you do best, Trevelyan!” called the enchanter after us.

“And these are the people we wish to ally ourselves with?” said Cassandra as we left the tavern.

“Listen, if I had a choice, we wouldn’t ally with either these idiots or the templars, but these are desperate times, and I want to find out why a Tevinter magister has taken such an interest in the mage rebellion,” said Gwendolyn.

We headed up the path to the Redcliffe Cathedral, passing under the shade of trees and chantry sisters distributing aid to refugees. No one seemed to be either entering or leaving the chantry, which was not exactly a good sign.

We stepped into the chantry and were promptly greeted by the sight of a Fade rift opened in the middle of the chantry and a fabulously dressed, handsome Tevinter mage with a styled mustache fighting a demon.

The mage defeated the demon with a blow from his staff then stood up and looked at us. “Good! You’re finally here! Now help me close this, would you?”

Without bothering to question the circumstances, we drew our weapons and joined the Tevinter mage in battle. This rift proved to be the same as the one we had just closed earlier that day at the city gates, with the odd time distortions. But just as before, the demons were soon defeated, and Gwendolyn soon had the rift closed.

The battle over, the Tevinter mage looked at Gwendolyn in amazement. “Fascinating. How does that work, exactly?”

Gwendolyn looked at him.

“You don’t even know, do you? You just wiggle your fingers, and boom! Rift closes,” continued the mage.

“Who are you?” Gwendolyn asked.

“Ah. Getting ahead of myself again, I see,” said the mage. He bowed to her as he continued. “Dorian of House Pavus, most recently of Minrathous. How do you do?”

“Another Tevinter. Be cautious with this one,” said Cassandra.

“Suspicious friends you have here,” said Dorian in his usual nonchalant way. “Magister Alexius was once my mentor, so my assistance should be valuable—as I’m sure you can imagine.”

“Are you the one who sent that note then?” asked Gwendolyn.

“I am. Someone had to warn you, after all. Look, you must know there’s danger. That should be obvious even without the note. Let’s start with Alexius claiming the allegiance of the mage rebels out from under you. As if by magic, yes? Which is exactly right. To reach Redcliffe before the Inquisition, Alexius distorted time itself,” explained Dorian.

“He arranged it so he could arrive here just after the Divine died?” she said.

“You catch on quick,” said Dorian.

“That is fascinating if true…and almost certainly dangerous,” said Solas.

“The rift you closed here? You saw how it twisted time around itself, sped some things up and slowed others down. Soon there will be more like it, and they’ll appear further and further away from Redcliffe. The magic Alexius is using is wildly unstable, and it’s unraveling the world,” said Dorian.

“Well, that sounds…bad,” said Gwendolyn in what may have been the understatement of the age.

“I know what I’m talking about. I helped develop this magic. When I was still his apprentice, it was pure theory. Alexius could never get it to work. What I don’t understand is why he’s doing it. Ripping time to shreds just to gain a few hundred lackeys?” said Dorian.

“He didn’t do it for them.”

We all turned to see Felix enter the room and walk over to Gwendolyn and Dorian.

“Took you long enough. Is he getting suspicious?” asked Dorian.

“No, but I shouldn’t have played the illness card. I thought he’d keep fussing over me all day,” said Felix. He turned from Dorian to Gwendolyn. “My father’s joined a cult. Tevinter supremacists. They call themselves ‘Venatori’. And I can tell you one thing: whatever he’s done for them, he’s done it to get to you.”

“All this for me? And here I didn’t get Alexius anything,” said Gwendolyn with a slight smirk.

“Send him a fruit basket. Everyone loves those,” said Dorian. “You know you’re his target. Expecting the trap is the first step in turning it to your advantage. I can’t stay in Redcliffe. Alexius doesn’t know I’m here, and I want to keep it that way for now. But whenever you’re ready to deal with him, I want to be there. I’ll be in touch.”

With that, he headed towards one of the chantry side doors. He turned briefly before heading out the door. “Oh, and Felix? Try not to get yourself killed.”

“There are worse things than dying, Dorian,” said Felix, but Dorian was already gone.

\---

The war council meeting upon our return was one not a sedate one.

“We don’t have the manpower to take the castle! Either we find another way in or give up on this nonsense and go get the templars,” said Cullen.

“No,” said Gwendolyn bluntly.

Cullen shot her a look.

“Redcliffe is in the hands of a magister. This cannot be allowed to stand,” said Cassandra.

“The letter from Alexius asked for the Herald of Andraste by name. It’s an obvious trap,” said Josephine.

“Isn’t that kind of him. What does Alexius say about me?” asked Gwendolyn.

“He’s so complementary that we are certain he wants to kill you,” said Leliana.

“Not this again,” said Josephine.

“Redcliffe Castle is one of the most defensible fortresses in Ferelden. It has repelled thousands of assaults,” said Cullen. He turned to Gwendolyn. “If you go in there, you’ll die. And we’ll lose the only means we have of closing these rifts. I won’t allow it.”

“And if we don’t even try to meet Alexius, we lose the mages and leave a hostile foreign power on our doorstep!” argued Leliana.

“Even if we could assault the keep, it would be for naught,” said Josephine. “An ‘Orlesian’ Inquisition’s army marching into Ferelden would provoke a war. Our hands are tied.”

“The magister—” began Cassandra.

“Has outplayed us,” finished Cullen.

“The magister’s son, Felix, told me Alexius is in a cult that’s obsessed with me,” said Gwendolyn. “I doubt they’ll graciously receive our apologies and go about their business.”

“They will remain a threat, and a powerful one. Unless we act,” agreed Leliana.

“We cannot accept defeat now. There must be a solution,” said Cassandra.

“Where is the Arl of Redcliffe? I’m sure he’d help us get his castle back,” said Gwendolyn.

“After he was displaced, Arl Teagan rode straight for Denerim to petition the Crown for help. I doubt he’ll want our assistance once the Fereldan army lays siege to his castle,” said Josephine.

Leliana looked up, an idea occurring to her. “Wait. There is a secret passage into the castle. An escape route for the family. It’s too narrow for our troops, but we could send agents through.”

“Too risky. Those agents will be discovered well before they reach the magister,” said Cullen.

“That’s why we need a distraction. Perhaps the envoy Alexius wants so badly?” said Leliana.

Cullen was warming up to the idea. “While they’re focused on the Herald, we break the magister’s defenses. It could work, but it’s a huge risk.”

Right on cue, the door swung open to reveal none other than Dorian Pavus. “Fortunately, you’ll have help.”

A nervous soldier scurried in behind Dorian. “This man says he has information about the magister and his methods, Commander.”

Dorian walked over to the war table and stood next to Gwendolyn, offering her a smirk.

Cullen eyed Dorian with a look of suspicion that was either in relation to overall security, general distrust, or how close he was standing to Gwendolyn. Or perhaps just a combination of all of three.

“Your spies will never get past Alexius’s magic without my help. So, if you’re going after him, I’m coming along,” said Dorian.

Cullen looked pointedly at Gwendolyn. “The plan puts you in the most danger. We can’t, in good conscience, order you to do this.” Before Gwendolyn could respond, Cullen kept talking, digging himself into a hole. “We can still go after the templars if you’d rather not play the bait. It’s up to you.”

If there was one way to ensure that Gwendolyn absolutely agreed to be the bait, regardless of personal risk, that was likely it.

And so, with no further debate to be had, the Herald of Andraste, with her new Tevinter ally, set out for Redcliffe.


	9. Time After Time

It was decided, if only for the sake of diplomacy, that Cassandra and Blackwall would accompany the Lady Herald to Redcliffe Castle. And when they arrived, they were not greeted…warmly.

A Tevinter wearing white robes, armor that was all sharp angles, and wearing a decidedly creepy metal mask, greeted them in the entryway, standing stoic and impassive.

“Would you be so kind as to announce us?” asked Gwendolyn politely.

The Tevinter said nothing.

A blonde man in nobleman’s clothes strode down the stairs towards them. “The magister’s invitation was for Lady Trevelyan and no one else. You lot wait here.”

“You would not deprive me of my diplomatic attaches, would you?” asked Gwendolyn innocently.

The snob fixed her with a tight smile and bowed slightly before gesturing them to follow after him. He led them through the castle, down the very halls that kings, queens, and all manner of Fereldan dignitaries once called home, down staircases where Fereldan history was made, and into the throne room, where a Tevinter magister now sat. Tevinter soldiers stood at attention at even intervals between the pillars in the room, Felix stood beside the throne in which his father now sat, and Fiona stood at the foot of the small series of steps leading to the throne. In the torchlight, the mabari statues that were perhaps once mere Fereldan symbols now seemed like threatening war hounds, preparing for the attack.

“My lord magister, the agents of the Inquisition have arrived,” said the snob.

Alexius stood from his stolen throne. “My friend! It’s so good to see you again…and your associates, of course. I’m sure we can work out some sort of arrangement that is equitable to all parties.”

“Are we mages to have no voice in deciding our fate?” asked Fiona.

“Fiona, you would not have turned your followers over to my care if you did not trust me with their lives,” said Alexius.

“Enough pleasantries. Shall we begin?” said Gwendolyn.

“It is refreshing to meet someone so goal-oriented,” said Alexius. He returned to his throne. “The Inquisition needs mages to close the Breach, and I have them. So, what shall you offer me in exchange?”

“Don’t bother. I know that you invited me here to kill me,” said Gwendolyn, getting straight to the point.

“If you believe that, I marvel that you chose to come anyway,” said Alexius.

“She knows everything, Father,” said Felix.

“Felix, what have you done?” asked Alexius suspiciously.

“We made sure to disarm your trap before we came in. I hope you don’t mind,” said Gwendolyn.

“I’ve yet to see your cleverness, I’m afraid,” said Alexius. He stood up again. “You walk into my stronghold with your stolen mark—a gift you don’t even understand—and think you’re in control? You’re nothing but a mistake.”

It was likely around now that Gwendolyn began to think to herself _well, shit_. 

“If you know so much, enlighten me. Tell me what this mark on my hand is for,” said Gwendolyn.

“It belongs to your betters. You wouldn’t even begin to understand its purpose,” spat Alexius.

“Father, listen to yourself! Do you know what you sound like?” said Felix.

“He sounds exactly like the sort of villainous cliché everyone expects us to be,” said Dorian as he appeared from behind a pillar and came to stand beside Gwendolyn.

“Dorian,” said Alexius darkly. “I gave you a chance to be a part of this. You turned me down. The Elder One has power you would not believe. He will raise the Imperium from its own ashes.”

“That’s who you serve? The one who killed the Divine? Is he a mage?” asked Gwendolyn.

“Soon he will become a god,” said Alexius reverently.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” said Gwendolyn.

“He will make the world bow to mages once more. We will rule from the Boeric Ocean to the Frozen Seas,” said Alexius.

“You can’t involve my people in this!” exclaimed Fiona.

“Alexius, this is exactly what you and I talked about _never_ wanting to happen! Why would you support this?” exclaimed Dorian.

As he spoke, arrows began to strike down the Tevinters along the walls.

“Stop this, Father. Give up the Venatori. Let the southern mages fight the Breach, and let’s go home,” urged Felix.

“No! It’s the only way, Felix. He can save you!” argued Alexius.

“Save me?” balked Felix.

“There is a way. The Elder One promised. If I undo the mistake at the Temple…” trailed off Alexius.

“I’m going to die. You need to accept that,” urged Felix.

“Seize them, Venatori! The Elder One demands this woman’s life!” ordered Alexius.

But the Venatori didn’t move to arrest Gwendolyn. Instead they all dropped dead as Inquisition scouts fired arrows and slit their throats, occupying the throne room in their stead.

“Your men are dead, Alexius,” said Gwendolyn rather smugly.

“You…are a mistake! You never should have existed!” fumed Alexius as he reached for an amulet and poured his magic into it.

“No!” cried Dorian, firing a spell at Alexius and throwing him off balance.

The amulet flew into the air and opened a swirling, sparking vortex that sucked Gwendolyn and Dorian in before disappearing, leaving the throne room dead silent. 

\---

The vortex spit Dorian and Gwendolyn out into a waterlogged dungeon that glowed red in the light of giant red lyrium crystals that stuck out of the walls. Their sudden appeared startled two Venatori soldiers who had been on patrol.

“Blood of the Elder One!” exclaimed one of the soldiers.

“Where’d they come from?” wondered the other.

The two soldiers attacked the disoriented and startled mages, but they defended themselves nonetheless. Even so, barriers were a true lifesaver in this instance. The soldiers defeated, it was time to consider what in Andraste’s name what just happened.

“Displacement? Interesting!” said Dorian. “It’s probably not what Alexius intended. The rift must have moved us…to what? The closest confluence of arcane energy?”

“The last thing I remember, we were in the castle hall,” said Gwendolyn, not enjoying even one second of this.

“Let’s see. If we’re still in the castle, it isn’t…oh! Of course! It’s not simply where—it’s when!” exclaimed Dorian. “Alexius used the amulet as a focus! It moved us through time!”

It was in this moment, that Gwendolyn Trevelyan’s life went from weird, to _frighteningly _weird.

She hugged herself, not enjoying this one bit. “Then we undo this and go back. Now.”

“I’m not certain it’ll be a matter of snapping our fingers, but yes, I quite agree,” said Dorian. “Let’s look around, see where the rift took us. Then we can figure out how to get back…if we can.”

“Then let’s go,” said Gwendolyn.

“I’m right behind you,” said Dorian.

Upon further inspection, they were, in fact, in a locked dungeon requiring a key. A key, which, as it turned out, was on one of the Venatori they’d killed not long ago. They tried not to think too much about robbing a dead man of his keys before unlocking the cell and heading further into the dungeons. The waterlogged hall led to a set of stairs and up to a higher level of dungeon, which at least was not underwater. The hallway led to yet another door and another staircase, and soon they were exploring a practical labyrinth of dungeons, all decorated with the same horrifying red lyrium growths out of the walls.

They headed through another door and came upon a rather disturbing floating platform held above the ground by a series of massive chains and metal bridges. More Venatori were here guarding other doors, but Gwendolyn and Dorian made quick work of them. They then headed through the door on the left, and immediately plunged deeper into the dungeons. They ran down that hallway, into another hallway, through another door, and found themselves in a cell block, this time occupied by Fiona…or what was left of her. She was all but encased in red lyrium, the crystal having merged with her body. And yet, she was still alive…somewhat.

“Grand Enchanter Fiona?” asked Gwendolyn uncertainly.

“You’re…alive? How?” said Fiona.

“Is that red lyrium growing from your body? How?” replied Gwendolyn in horror.

“The longer you’re near it…eventually…you become…this. Then they mine your corpse for more,” said Fiona.

Gwendolyn felt sick.

“Can you tell us the date? It’s very important,” said Dorian.

“Harvestmere…9:42 Dragon,” croaked Fiona.

“Then we’ve missed an entire year,” said Dorian in shock.

“Well, we’re here now. No matter what, I’ll drive them all back to Tevinter,” said Gwendolyn.

“Not Tevinter…Alexius…serves the Elder One. More powerful…than the Maker…No one…challenges him and lives,” said Fiona with great difficulty.

“Well, that magister is really going to regret that he didn’t just kill me,” said Gwendolyn matter-of-factly.

“Our only hope is to find the amulet that Alexius used to send us here,” said Dorian. “If it still exists, I can use it to reopen the rift at the exact spot we left. Maybe. Hopefully.”

“Good,” breathed Fiona.

“I said _maybe_. It might also turn us into paste,” said Dorian.

“You must try,” said Fiona with difficulty. “Your spymaster, Leliana…she is here. Find her. She may still live. Your commander…is…but…may be no longer. Quickly…before the Elder One learns you’re here.”

The two of them left the room and returned to the room with the metal bridges, fought the Venatori that attacked, and then headed through the door opposite them.

“Red lyrium is an infection…Maker, why is it coming out of the walls?” asked Dorian as they entered the door and began walking down a water-logged stairway.

“Are you sure you want to find out?” replied Gwendolyn.

Dorian grumbled something in Tevene.

They headed through another door and entered what could only be described as a torture chamber, with instruments and devices to fuel horrors for a week. But as Gwendolyn came to an abrupt halt in the doorway, it wasn’t any of that that caught her attention, but rather the man suspended in chains from the ceiling by his wrists. He was shirtless and wore only trousers, but there was no mistaking who he was, or how he’d been tortured. Angry red lines traced his veins where he’d been infected with red lyrium.

With a muffled cry, Gwendolyn rushed forward and took the man’s face in her hands, tears pricking her eyes. “Cullen. Cullen, open your eyes. It’s Gwendolyn and Dorian. Alexius sent us forward in time, but we’re alive and we’re here.”

Dorian approached her carefully, seeing the situation more clearly than she did.

“Dear, Gwendolyn, don’t bother with that,” said Dorian carefully.

Gwendolyn wasn’t listening, still pleading with Cullen to wake up. Why wouldn’t he open his eyes? Was he still mad that she didn’t choose the templars? Shouldn’t he at least have the decency to yell at her for needlessly endangering herself? Maybe he just needed some healing magic. She knew a few spells, after all, after her time at the Circle and from all the books she’d read. Surely healing magic would make him wake up—would mend his wounds and fix this.

Dorian set a hand on her shoulder. “My dear, he’s gone.”

“What? No, don’t be ridiculous. He can’t—” said Gwendolyn, a lump forming in her throat.

“There is nothing we can do for him now, but to get back in time and stop this all from happening to begin with,” said Dorian.

Gwendolyn tore her gaze away from Cullen’s limp form to look at Dorian, her anguish apparent.

“Let’s go,” said Dorian.

With one last horrified look at the Commander, Gwendolyn followed Dorian from the room.

They walked along, passing through more hallways and going up and down more staircases. Through yet another door—why were there so many doors—they entered a cell block with one occupied cell. Running over to it, they discovered Blackwall, only he was glowing faintly red—infected by red lyrium.

“Andraste have mercy! You shouldn’t be here. The dead should rest in peace,” said Blackwall, his voice sounding odd and his eyes glowing red.

“It’s really me and I’m definitely not dead, Blackwall,” said Gwendolyn, relieved beyond words that at least someone was still alive.

“I was there! I saw you fall! Alexius’s spell left nothing but ash!” exclaimed Blackwall.

“You skipped over too much. Look at the poor man,” said Dorian. “Alexius’s spell didn’t kill us—it sent us forward in time. That’s how we survived.”

“Forward in time? I don’t understand,” said Blackwall.

“We might be able to go back and stop all this before it happens,” said Gwendolyn.

“Maybe I’ve just gone mad. If what you say is true…then this…everything I’ve been through, everything about this nightmare, is a mistake?” said Blackwall.

“Hang on to that feeling; you can take it out on Alexius when we find him,” said Gwendolyn.

“Good advice. You can’t imagine the things that happened after you died. The Elder One had the Orlesian empress killed, and in the chaos that followed, his demon army invaded. The Inquisition was crushed. Anyone who refused to convert was killed. There’s nothing left out there,” said Blackwall.

“Let’s make Alexius pay for what he’s done,” said Gwendolyn darkly.

“Fine by me,” said Blackwall.

Dorian glanced at Gwendolyn, who was glaring at nothing in particular, ice magic practically rolling off of her in waves and slowly freezing the water around her. Was she taking this dark future so terribly because it was the end of the world? Or because of who they had just found dead? Or was it perhaps both? Yes, Dorian decided, it was both. The world had ended in her absence, everything was destroyed, and she had just found her strong, proud, vaguely rude commander dead. Perhaps her anger was justified.

Out of that cell block, down a hall, and into another cell block, they found another occupied cell.

“‘The Light shall lead her safely through the paths of this world and into the next’,” came Cassandra’s voice from the cell.

They ran over and Cassandra—who also glowed red with red lyrium—looked up in pained surprise. “You’ve returned to us. Can it be? Has Andraste given us another chance? Maker forgive me. I failed you. I failed everyone. The end must truly be upon us if the dead return to life.”

“I’m not back from the dead, Cassandra. I just got…well, this is hard to explain,” said Gwendolyn.

“I was there. The magister obliterated you with a gesture,” said Cassandra.

“Alexius sent us forward in time. If we find him, we may be able to return to the present,” said Dorian.

“Go back in time? Then…can you make it so that none of this ever took place?” asked Cassandra.

“That is the plan,” said Gwendolyn.

“None of this will happen. Andraste, please let that be true,” said Cassandra.

Now that the party was complete, they left the same way they’d come, back through all of those hallways and back to the precarious platform room. At some point the remaining bridge had been lowered, and so they crossed it and headed into the castle proper. They traveled through a labyrinth of hallways until they heard the sound of a torturer shouting. “Tell me how Trevelyan knew of the sacrifice at the temple!”

Gwendolyn sprinted forward and pushed open the door, revealing another torture chamber, this time complete with Venatori torturers and a tortured Leliana who was pale, drawn, gaunt, and injured, but still mercifully alive.

“You will break!” the torturer was saying.

“I will _die _first,” spat Leliana.

Gwendolyn entered the room and the torturer whipped around.

“Or you will,” said Leliana. She wrapped her legs around his throat and held tight before snapping his neck and killing him.

Gwendolyn hurried inside, picked up the guard’s keys, and unlocked the chains holding Leliana.

“You’re alive,” breathed Leliana.

“You’re safe now,” said Gwendolyn. Finding Nightingale alive was not as much of a relief as she had hoped it might be.

“Forget ‘safe’. If you came back from the dead, you need to do better than ‘safe’. You need to end this,” said Leliana. “The magister’s probably in his chambers.”

“You…aren’t curious how we got here?” asked Dorian.

“No,” said Leliana coldly.

“Alexius sent us into the future. This, his victory, his Elder One—it was never meant to be,” said Dorian.

“We have to find Alexius and reverse his spell,” added Gwendolyn.

“If we can get back to our present time, we can prevent this future from ever happening,” said Dorian.

“And mages always wonder why people fear them. No one should have this power,” said Leliana darkly.

“It’s dangerous and unpredictable. Before the Breach, nothing we did—” started Dorian.

“Enough,” said Leliana, the calm threat in her voice more deadly than any blade she wielded. “This is all pretend to you. Some future you hope will never exist. I suffered. The whole world suffered. It was real.”

There was nothing to be said to that, so instead they just nodded and left the room, now to go find Alexius and put an end to all this. They traveled down the hall and through another door back into the platform room, only now on a much higher level with only one other door. They headed through that and promptly ran into a room with a Fade rift.

Once the rift was dispensed with and the demons slain, the traveled through a gate and up a set of stairs and into the docks where they encountered a frightening amount of red lyrium and two abominations.

“This is madness. Alexius can’t have wanted this,” said Dorian, still in denial.

“Well, it’s what he got,” said Gwendolyn, who had passed denial and moved onto anger somewhere between finding her dead commander and her tortured spymaster.

From the docks they ran up another staircase and into the courtyard, only to add to their horror.

“Is that…the Breach?” asked Dorian in horror as he stared up at the green sky. There was no denying _that_.

“Maker…” breathed Gwendolyn.

The Breach now _was _the sky. No more blue, no more puffy white clouds—there was only green churning horror and rocks floating in the sky. If they had required further proof that this was the end of the world, this was it.

“The Elder One and his Venatori. They are the ones who opened the Breach,” said Leliana.

They encountered two more Fade rifts in the courtyard and put an end to them, by now just wanting to get to the throne room and put an end to this.

Through a door off the courtyard, they entered the royal wing of the castle, or what was left of it. Much of the castle had been destroyed, the result of the Breach and Fade rifts. Bricks, rubble, and broken furniture littered the halls and the empty rooms, making the place feel abandoned.

They entered the main hall of the castle and surprised a dozen demons and Venatori as well as encountered a Fade rift. It was a bloody, messy business, but they got through it. Their goal was too important not to.

The room secure, they finally found the way to the throne room…but the door was sealed and required five keystones to open it.

“Maker’s Breath, what kind of magic has sealed this? How did Alexius even get it here? How desperate and paranoid must he be?” exclaimed Dorian in frustration.

“Let’s check those Venatori,” said Gwendolyn.

Sure enough, after searching the dozen dead Venatori, they managed to find the five keystone shards to unlock the door. And as it turned out, it led straight into the throne room. Alexius stood by the fireplace at the end of the hall, staring into the fire. A hunched, deformed figure was crouched beside him.

“Alexius. It’s time to answer for your crimes,” said Gwendolyn as they stormed through the hall and came to a stop several meters off of the platform.

“And here you are…finally. I knew you would appear again. Not that it would be now, but I knew I hadn’t destroyed you. My final failure,” lamented Alexius as he turned around. He had the audacity to look both tired and pained.

“Was it worth it? Everything you did to the world? To yourself?” said Dorian.

“It doesn’t matter now. All we can do is wait for the end,” said Alexius.

“It _does _matter. I will undo this,” declared Gwendolyn furiously.

“How many times have I tried? The past cannot be undone,” said Alexius. “All that I fought for, all that I betrayed, and what have I wrought? Ruin and death. There is nothing else. The Elder One comes: for me, for you, for us all.”

Leliana had moved when none of them were looking. She appeared behind the hunched form—Felix—pulled him to his feet and pressed a dagger to this throat.

“Felix!” cried Alexius.

“That’s Felix? Maker’s Breath, Alexius, what have you done?” fumed Dorian.

“He would have died, Dorian! I _saved_ him!” exclaimed Alexius. He turned to Leliana. “Please, don’t hurt my son. I’ll do anything you ask.”

“Then give us the amulet,” demanded Gwendolyn.

“I want the world back,” said Leliana. And with that, she slit Felix’s throat.

“No,” breathed Alexius. And then louder, angrier, “NO!”

He blasted Leliana backward with a spell, and then the battle commenced. Alexius was a formidable opponent, wielding magic as only a master mage can. He summoned Fade rifts and teleported across the room to escape their blows. It was frustrating and it was difficult. They almost died on more than one occasion, but they had something that Alexius did not have, and that was an overwhelming will to live. They _needed_ to win. They _needed_ to get back and fix things. If not…they had seen the alternative. And it was not a future they could live with.

In the end, it was Dorian who struck the final blow that ended Alexius, taking his amulet in the process.

“He wanted to die, didn’t he?” said Dorian as he crouched over his mentor, a shell of the man he’d once admired. “All those lies he told himself, the justifications…he lost Felix long ago and didn’t even notice. Oh, Alexius…”

“This Alexius was too far gone. But the Alexius in our time might still be reasoned with,” said Gwendolyn, trying to comfort him.

“I suppose that’s true. This is the same amulet he used before. I think it’s the same one we made in Minrathous. That’s a relief. Give me an hour to work out the spell he used, and I should be able to reopen the rift,” said Dorian.

“An hour?!” balked Leliana. “That’s impossible! You must go now!”

As if to emphasize her point, a chilling dragon’s screech could be heard from outside and the entire castle shook.

“The Elder One,” said Leliana, clearly shaken.

“There’s a reason they won,” said Blackwall.

Cassandra and Blackwall exchanged a look and came to a silent agreement.

“We’ll go on ahead, take out as many as we can. Leliana, you’re the last line of defense. Give them what you’ve got,” said Blackwall.

“What? No! I won’t let you commit suicide,” exclaimed Gwendolyn.

“Look at us; we’re already dead. The only way we live is if this day never comes,” said Leliana.

Cassandra and Blackwall left the throne room, sealing the doors behind them. Leliana turned to the door, her bow raised, and an arrow drawn. “Cast your spell. You have as much time as I have arrows.”

Dorian headed to the top of the platform and began casting his spell, with Gwendolyn trailing after him, watery eyes trained on the door. She had already lost too many friends that day.

Leliana recited the Chant of Light as the doors burst open and demons and Venatori stormed in, tossing aside the lifeless bodies of Cassandra and Blackwall. Leliana rained arrows down upon them, cutting down as many as she could. A stray arrow hit her in the shoulder, but she kept fighting.

Gwendolyn moved to help, but Dorian grabbed her arm with his unoccupied hand. “You move and we all die!”

She looked between him and the scene before her, watching helplessly as Leliana fought to the bitter end. The portal opened and Dorian dragged Gwendolyn forward. She turned just in time to see Leliana fall to a Venatori blade before they disappeared through the rift and appeared right where they had been…only a year earlier.

Alexius was mortified.

“You’ll have to do better than that,” said Dorian casually, as if they hadn’t just seen the end of the world and lived to talk about it.

Alexius dropped to his knees, defeated.

“You failed, Alexius. How forgiving is your Elder One?” asked Gwendolyn bitterly, the angry tears still blurring her vision.

“You won. There is no point extending this charade,” said Alexius miserably. He looked up at his son. “Felix…”

“It’s going to be all right, Father,” said Felix.

“You’ll die,” said Alexius.

“Everyone dies,” said Felix.

Alexius hung his head as Inquisition soldiers pulled him to his feet and escorted him away.

“Well. I’m glad that’s over with,” said Dorian brightly.

Right on cue, the doors to the room burst open and the Fereldan Royal Guard marched in and stationed themselves along the walls.

“Or not,” said Dorian.

The Fereldan Royal Guard could only be accompanying one person, and sure enough, King Alistair Theirin strode right into the throne room like a man on a mission. He was younger than one might have expected, having only been twenty years old when the Blight began. With chocolate brown eyes, highly styled sandy hair, and a chiseled jawline, he was really quite handsome. But for all the stories and rumors of his good nature, charm, and humor, he was not smiling now. The Hero of Ferelden’s husband was in Redcliffe for one reason and one reason alone, and it sure as shit wasn’t to polish his wife’s statue in the town square or bring a houseplant to the new occupants of Redcliffe Castle.

“Grand Enchanter. Imagine how surprised I was to learn you’d given Redcliffe Castle away to a Tevinter magister,” said King Alistair, arms crossed and justifiably furious.

“King Alistair!” gasped Fiona.

“Especially since I’m _fairly sure _Redcliffe belongs to Arl Teagan,” continued Alistair.

“Your Majesty, we never intended…” trailed off Fiona.

“I _know _what you intended. I wanted to help you, but you’ve made it impossible. You and your followers are no longer welcome in Ferelden,” said Alistair, those chocolate brown eyes entirely devoid of warmth.

“But we have hundreds who need protection! Where will we go?” asked Fiona.

Gwendolyn stepped forward, awkwardly inserting herself into the conversation. “Hello there. Err, greetings, Your Majesty, King Alistair, ser. I should point out that the Inquisition _did_ come here for mages to close the Breach.”

King Alistair cocked an eyebrow at her, still eyeing her suspiciously.

“And what are the terms of this arrangement?” asked Fiona warily.

“Hopefully better than what Alexius gave you. The Inquisition _is _better than that, yes?” said Dorian.

“I suggest conscripting them. They’ve proven what they’ll do given too much freedom,” said Cassandra.

“No one fights well for their captors,” said Blackwall.

“It seems we have little choice than to accept whatever you offer,” said Fiona in resignation.

“Then you will fight as allies at the Inquisition’s side,” said Gwendolyn, although not altogether happily.

“We will discuss this. Later,” said Cassandra.

“I pray that the rest of the Inquisition honors your promise, then,” said Fiona.

“The Breach threatens all of Thedas. We can’t exactly afford to be divided,” said Gwendolyn. “We can’t fight it without you. Any chance of success requires your full support.”

“It’s a generous offer. I doubt you’re going to get a better one. Either way you are _leaving_ my kingdom,” said Alistair, still very much _not pleased_. Still, something about the Inquisitor’s grudging dealing with the mages reminded him of his time during the Blight, and he was not without sympathy. He knew much better than most that those whose assistance you required were not always the most deserving or the most obliging. Never mind that he had enough on his plate already without rebel mages causing trouble and allying themselves with a foreign enemy. Let something be someone _else’s _problem for a change. Especially since the commander of Ferelden’s armies was presently missing. Maker, he missed that woman. Where _was _she?

Fiona hung her head and then looked at Gwendolyn. “We accept. It would be madness not to. I will gather my people and ready for them to journey to Haven. The Breach will be closed. You will not regret giving us this chance.”

“I really hope you’re right about that,” said Gwendolyn.

\---

This was received back at Haven about as well as one might expect.

“It is not a matter for debate. There will be abominations among the mages, and we must be prepared!” argued Cullen furiously.

Cullen, Josephine, Leliana, and Cassandra were in the main hall of the chantry discussing the fallout.

“If we rescind the offer of an alliance, it makes the Inquisition appear incompetent at best, tyrannical at worst,” said Josephine.

Gwendolyn had the bad timing of entering the chantry at the very moment and was immediately pounced on.

“What were you _thinking_, turning mages loose with no oversight? The Veil is torn open!” fumed Cullen.

“We need them to close the Breach. It’s not going to work if we make enemies of them. They _did _start a war because they didn’t want to be ruled by the Chantry; do you really think that they would accept _us _ruling over them instead?” shot back Gwendolyn just as angrily. And to think, she’d actually shed tears over this man? Maker, it was painfully difficult to resolve the angry ex-templar before her with the corpse she’d seen in that dark future. He was making it very difficult to be pleased by his continued existence.

“I know we need them for the Breach, but they could do as much damage as the demons themselves!” said Cullen. He turned to Cassandra. “You were there, Seeker! Why didn’t you intervene?!”

“While I may not completely agree with the decision, I support it,” said Cassandra stiffly. “The sole point of the Herald’s mission was to gain the mages’ aid, and that is what was accomplished.”

“The voice of pragmatism speaks! And here I was just starting to enjoy the circular arguments,” said Dorian as he appeared from the darkness of the chantry side corridors to lean on the wall smugly.

“Closing the Breach is all that matters,” said Cassandra.

“I got a taste of the consequences if we fail. Let’s make sure we don’t,” said Gwendolyn.

“We will not fail,” said Cassandra resolutely.

Gwendolyn wished she had her confidence.

“We should look into the things you saw in this ‘dark future’. The assassination of Empress Celene? A demon army?” said Leliana.

“Sounds like something a Tevinter cult might do. Orlais falls, the Imperium rises. Chaos for everyone!” said Dorian.

“One battle at a time. It’s going to take time to organize our troops and the mage recruits. Let’s take this to the war room,” said Cullen. He looked at Gwendolyn. “Join us. None of this means anything without your mark, after all.”

“And here I was hoping to take a nap,” said Gwendolyn blandly.

“What is it they say? No rest for the wicked?” replied Cullen, looking at her pointedly.

Gwendolyn glared at him. The _nerve _of some people.

“Meet us there, when you’re ready,” said Josephine.

“I’ll skip the war council, but I would like to see the Breach up close, if you don’t mind,” said Dorian.

“Then you’re…staying?” asked Gwendolyn.

“Oh, didn’t I mention? The South is so charming and rustic, I adore it to little pieces,” said Dorian.

“I must admit, I’m surprised,” said Gwendolyn.

“We both saw what could happen. What this ‘Elder One’ and his cult are trying to do,” said Dorian. “Not everything from Tevinter is terrible. Some of us have fought for eons against this sort of madness. It’s my duty to stand with you. That future will _not _come to pass.”

Gwendolyn smiled lightly. “There’s no one I’d rather be stranded in time with, future or present.”

“Excellent choice! But let’s not get stranded against anytime soon, yes?” said Dorian.

Cullen was still not happy with how any of this had turned out, and now Gwendolyn had just recruited _another _mage. And were they flirting? What exactly was going on here? “I’ll begin preparations to march on the summit. Maker willing, the mages will be enough to grant us victory.”

As the advisors headed into the war room to discuss battle strategy, Dorian and Gwendolyn were left alone.

“_That _is the one you were broken up over? The overgrown mabari with a terrible fashion sense? What is he _wearing_?” said Dorian.

“That never happened, we will not speak of it, and I hate him,” said Gwendolyn, her face growing pink to contradict her words.

Dorian grinned wickedly. “If you say so.”

Gwendolyn frowned at him. 


	10. The Calm Before the Storm

Gwendolyn and Dorian—nearly inseparable best friends since the ordeal in Redcliffe—were heading though the front gates of Haven, intent on visiting Harritt. The blacksmith insisted upon personally outfitting all of the Herald’s most trusted companions, with Dorian being the newest addition to that list.

“So, you neglected to inform your fair advisors of all the details, did you?” said Dorian.

“They didn’t need to know everything that happened,” said Gwendolyn.

“You told them of finding Leliana, so why not of finding the others?” said Dorian.

She glared daggers at him. “No need to further depress anyone by informing them that we’d stumbled upon their corpse.”

“Why not? He might be charmed that you shed tears,” said Dorian. 

“I did not shed tears,” said Gwendolyn.

“Time stood still as you rushed to him,” said Dorian, enjoying needling her.

“Time was doing a great deal, but standing still was not one of them,” said Gwendolyn haughtily.

Dorian looked past her at the training grounds. “Hmm, yes, well, perhaps you should go tell him anyway. He was ever so devastated that you failed to recruit his precious templars. Perhaps hearing that his Herald mourned his loss so tragically would improve his mood.”

“No,” said Gwendolyn flatly.

“Why not admit that you find him mildly tolerable?” asked Dorian.

“Because I don’t. I hate him,” said Gwendolyn.

Dorian continued to stare over her shoulder.

Gwendolyn frowned at him and turned to see what was so damn distracting. “Maker’s Breath, Dorian, what are you—”

Words died on her lips and she felt her face grow terribly warm. Cullen was over there on the training grounds all right. Training his troops. In person. Which would not have been anything of note had he been wearing his armor or that fur thing, but he had lost all of that today. No, instead he wore only a shirt, and it fit rather nicely across his muscular chest, broad shoulders, and arms.

“The local wildlife is certainly an improvement here,” said Dorian, a mischievous glint in his dark grey eyes. “You have good taste; I’ll give you that.”

“I may appreciate the…aesthetics…but that is all,” said Gwendolyn, purposely looking at anything other than the training ground.

“Hmm, yes, and I’m the Queen of Antiva,” said Dorian.

“I do not like him, Dorian,” said Gwendolyn.

“You’ve said that,” said Dorian.

“Because it’s true. I can’t stand him. All he does is either argue with every decision I make or act painfully formal,” said Gwendolyn.

“Sounds like an excuse to me,” said Dorian.

“Dorian, if there is a prize for making terrible judgment calls, I probably would win it at this point, at least in the Inquisition command’s eyes. Besides that, do you realize that half my damn Circle had a crush on him? They all went on a trip to Kirkwall and came back swooning over him. If only for that, I do not like him. He indirectly made several months of my life very irritating, and I blame him entirely,” said Gwendolyn.

“For being, what, too aesthetically pleasing?” said Dorian.

“It will never happen, nor do I want it to,” said Gwendolyn, arms crossed defiantly.

“If you say so. It’s your funeral, spending the rest of the Inquisition exchanging heated glances across the war table,” said Dorian.

“Dorian, you’ve been there. There are no heated glances. Most of the time it’s just arguing,” said Gwendolyn.

“Ah, but that’s just how it starts,” said Dorian.

“You’re quite right, my premeditated murder,” said Gwendolyn.

“He’s too honorable for that,” said Dorian.

She rolled her eyes.

\---

The war council meeting the next day was not to discuss the Breach, but rather a number of smaller matters. But Gwendolyn hadn’t been sleeping, and her advisors noticed.

“You have not been quite yourself since you returned from Redcliffe. Is everything all right?” asked Leliana.

“I’m fine,” said Gwendolyn.

Leliana narrowed her eyes at her, not letting it go.

Gwendolyn ran a hand through her hair. “I saw what happens if we fail. It wasn’t good.”

“Which is why we must _not_ fail,” said Cassandra.

“And yet, this dark future has allowed us critical insight to their plans and their goals. Even leaving aside the threat to the Empress and this demon army, you said that I was being interrogated, yes? What kinds of questions were they asking?” asked Leliana.

“Not interrogated, tortured,” said Gwendolyn as she stared unseeingly at the markers on the war table in front of her.

“What information were they after?” asked Leliana.

There was a haunted look in her eyes as Gwendolyn responded. “They wanted to know how I knew to stop some ritual at the Conclave.”

“The one that killed the Divine?” asked Josephine.

Gwendolyn nodded, still only looking at the map.

“And what is the answer?” asked Cassandra impatiently.

The Herald took a deep breath. “The answer is that I did not know to stop a ritual and I have no memory of ever actually doing so.”

“But you must remember _something _of the Conclave,” said Leliana.

Gwendolyn fiddled with a lock of her hair as a nervous tick. “Well, a bit. Not much. Most of what I remember is just clerics, templars, and mages all passive aggressively insulting each other or sitting on opposite sides of the room glaring at one another. If I had to guess, though, I’d say that I probably stumbled upon the Divine and this Elder One while I was looking for a statue.”

“A statue?” balked Cassandra.

“All right, well, Cassandra, you recall how I told you that my roommate at the Circle was a seer named Maxine? Well, when the Circle fell and she was dying, she tried to give me a set of instructions. Only, instead of them being anything useful, it was just: ‘_Go to the Temple and find the Crimson Lion, for the lion will save you from the cold_’_._ Which, as far as prophecies go, is rather unhelpful. Once the Conclave was announced to be at the Temple of Sacred Ashes and I was appointed as our Circle’s representative, I assumed that this was the temple in question. And, well, I figured that the Chantry was based out of Orlais, so perhaps this whole lion business referred to an ugly statue or some painting that she had wanted me to track down and maybe if I did, I would run into the Lord Seeker and change his mind about mages or something. But, well, clearly that never happened,” explained Gwendolyn.

“You are quite positive she said the _Crimson Lion_?” said Leliana.

Cullen was oddly very interested in the report in front of him.

“It was with her dying breath that she said all of this, so it’s seared into my memory, yes,” said Gwendolyn.

“Interesting,” said Leliana, her eyes flicking over to Cullen.

“So, is it a statue or a painting or…?” said Gwendolyn.

“Uncertain,” said Leliana.

“Well, in any case, there’s your answer. Nothing underhanded or all knowing, just me walking down the wrong hallway at the wrong time,” said Gwendolyn.

“Or the right one,” said Josephine.

They returned to business then, handling further backlash from the Trevelyan family, constructing watchtowers in the Hinterlands, and investigating the dragon cult that used to call Haven home. The Chargers were dispatched to Therinfall Redoubt where the templars were said to be congregating, seeing as some rather curious reports seemed to be coming out of the area. Once that was taken care of, Gwendolyn left to attend to other business, leaving the advisors alone in the war room.

“Well, that was interesting,” said Leliana.

“Commander, are you not known as Crimson Lion of Honnleath?” asked Josephine.

Cullen rubbed the back of his neck. “I am, though I have no idea why a seer would tell her to look for me. And at the Temple of Sacred Ashes, no less.”

“She first encountered you at the Temple once the Breach was opened. Perhaps that is what this refers to and nothing more,” said Cassandra.

“But did he ‘save her from the cold’ at the Temple?” asked Leliana.

“This girl clearly spoke in riddles. It may have referred to the Trevelyans, for all we know,” said Cassandra.

“We may never know. But it is quite interesting that this small prophecy is what triggered all of this happening in the first place,” said Leliana.

“Interesting, yet not entirely relevant to our purposes. I am far more concerned with what she saw in this dark future in Redcliffe. She does not speak of it and her report was entirely lacking in detail,” said Cassandra.

“From the sound of things, the horrors she witnessed were not ones she wishes to recall,” said Cullen.

“I can understand it. I cannot imagine how terrible such a future would be to witness first hand. And to see what had become of some of us…” said Josephine, shaking her head.

“Then let it serve as motivation to close the Breach,” said Cullen.

“Even once the Breach is closed, there will still be this Elder One to contend with,” said Cassandra.

“Indeed. He killed the Divine, and if he is some form of Tevinter magister who leads a cult of extremists, this will undoubtedly get quite messy,” said Leliana.

“And that shall be a problem for another time, once the Breach is sealed,” said Cassandra.

“Preparations are underway. We should be able to march on the Breach soon,” said Cullen.

“It should be noted that the Herald’s open support of the mages, no matter how grudgingly, has attracted the attention of a great many people, and not entirely in a good way. My people have already thwarted a number of attempts on her life,” said Leliana.

“And that’s not even to mention these Venatori,” said Cullen.

“Siding with the templars would have been no better, if they even would have accepted an offer from a mage such as her,” said Leliana.

“It’s a moot point now anyway,” said Cullen.

“We do not know how many of these Venatori there are or how far their reach is. It may be safest to take precautions,” said Leliana.

“I’ll post a guard to her of trusted knights,” said Cullen.

“Good. No harm must come to the Herald. She is the only hope we have of ending this nightmare,” said Cassandra.

\---

It was a sunny day and for the first time in a while, hope seemed to be the dominant mood in Haven. But as the Commander stood supervising the newest batch of recruits, it was clearly going to also be a long day.

As he saw Gwendolyn storming over to him, he decided to preface the conversation by expressing his own displeasure with the situation. After all, if there was an argument to be had, he needed to get his own position in before she went on an unending rant.

“Our recruits, the ones who aren’t mages, are understandably rather worried about the nature of our allegiance with the rebellion. Many of them have worked in Circles and far more have seen the horrors of magic can cause when it is unwatched.”

“Are we going to have a problem, Commander?” demanded Gwendolyn.

“I should hope not. I merely feel that it’s important for you to consider the feelings of the non-mages within the Inquisition. Many fear magic and rebel mages moving about the camp unchecked has done nothing to quell those fears,” said Cullen.

“Not that. You’ve made your opinion abundantly clear on that. I meant, why are there templars following me around?” she said, eyes as threatening as the waves off the Storm Coast. Before Cullen could answer, she continued her rant. “Is it because I chose the mages over the templars? Are you safeguarding all of Haven now against all mages that there are templars stalking my every move? What, do you think I’m suddenly going to turn into an abomination in the middle of the damn chantry that I have to have them following me about like this?”

“They are there for your protection, Herald,” said Cullen tersely.

That only made her angrier. “Oh, yes I’ve heard that before, haven’t I?!”

Cullen sighed deeply. This was not going well. “Herald, there is an increased threat to your life at present. Leliana’s people have already thwarted several attempts since your return from Redcliffe. My men are not there to stop you from becoming a maleficar, they are there to stop someone from killing you.”

Gwendolyn blinked at him then ran her hands over her face with a groan. “So, I’m yelling at you for no reason, then?”

“Your anger was perhaps justified. I should have informed you of the increased guard. I should have anticipated this response, given your past and our disagreements regarding the rebel mages,” said Cullen.

“So, you’re just doing your job and I’m going around blaming you for everything wrong in the world. Right. Must be a Tuesday,” said Gwendolyn, utterly embaressed.

Cullen smirked slightly at that. “I’ve gotten used to it.”

“Maker’s Breath, that’s not something you should have to get used to. I shouldn’t keep shifting blame onto you as I do. I’m sorry. I’ll do better,” said Gwendolyn.

“Having met your brother, I understand,” said Cullen.

“But you’re nothing at all like him. And I have been wrong in mistrusting you because of him. You’re a good man, Cullen; and you’ve done nothing to earn my ire. So, as I said, I will do better,” said Gwendolyn.

Cullen shook his head. “There’s no need. All I ask if that you not embrace these rebel mages quite so freely and perhaps not be quite so reckless.”

“_Reckless_?” gaped Gwendolyn.

“I would ask that you not plunge into battle with reckless abandon, Herald, with little to no care for your own safety,” said Cullen.

“I never do that,” frowned Gwendolyn stubbornly.

Cullen raised an eyebrow. “Then perhaps the reports of your charging directly into battle and challenging bandit leaders to duels are mistaken?”

“That was one time,” said Gwendolyn flippantly.

“And running into the apostate stronghold alone,” continued Cullen.

“I had a barrier up. Besides, whoever thought those mages to cast should be ashamed of themselves. No student of mine would have footwork that terrible,” said Gwendolyn.

“The templar camp in the Hinterlands? All of whom could all dispel your magic?” said Cullen.

“I…had backup with me,” said Gwendolyn.

Cullen looked at her.

“All right, I see your point,” allowed Gwendolyn.

“Especially with the heightened risk, I would ask that you exercise a bit more caution. I have no doubt that you are a capable mage of great talent, but a stray arrow can still do irreparable damage,” said Cullen.

As they spoke, tucked not far away, just out of sight, but with a clear view of this conversation, a few of us looked on.

“What do you think, Sparkler? Will they, or won’t they?” I asked.

“That will depend entirely on whether or not our fair commander rises to the occasion,” said Dorian.

“Pssh, the Lady Herald can do better than that stuck up commander with a stick up his arse,” said Sera.

“Ah, but there is the allure of the forbidden, yes? Two people who were once enemies on either side of an ages-old conflict, thrust together at the end of the world,” said Dorian.

“Still think she can do better,” said Sera.

“It’ll happen. We just have to give it time,” I said.

“I beg to differ entirely. She is in full denial of what we all plainly see beginning to happen and he will never make a move,” said Dorian.

“Fifteen silver say’s your wrong,” I said.

“I’ll take that bet,” said Dorian.

“I’m with Dorian. Won’t happen. Stick up his arse general won’t go for a mage. Nice hair, though,” said Sera. 

Leliana walked by just then, carrying reports to deliver to Cassandra.

“Nightingale, what do you think?” I asked.

She stopped walking and wandered over. “Think of what?”  
I nodded in the direction of Gwendolyn and Cullen, who were still talking. “Will they, or won’t they? We’ve got a pool going. Fifteen silver.”

Leliana smiled wickedly. “Put me down for ‘they will’.”

“You got dirt on ‘em?” asked Sera.

“But of course. And I have something of an eye for these things,” said Leliana.

“No. Don’t believe it. Won’t happen,” said Sera.

“Give it time, Buttercup. Give it time,” I said.

“Perhaps, once the Breach is closed and tensions ease, they will be more amenable to the development,” said Leliana.

“Is that to happen soon, then?” asked Dorian.

Leliana nodded and then walked off.

\---

Gwendolyn was on her way to meet with Apothecary Adan regarding health potions when she ran into Solas.

“The rebel mages join the Inquisition. Excellent,” said Solas, an excited gleam in his eyes.

“It’s not a perfect solution, but it’s good to have them on our side,” agreed Gwendolyn.

“Are you quite certain what you experienced was time magic and not a trick of the Fade?” asked Solas. Everything always returned to the Fade with Chuckles.

“I know enough of magic and the Fade to know that it wasn’t a trick. There was no denying it,” said Gwendolyn. She still didn’t enjoy thinking about any of it.

“Fascinating. To experience time travel must have been extraordinary,” said Solas.

“In its way. That future was not one I would wish to visit once more, however,” said Gwendolyn.

“I expect not. You must be wary moving forward,” said Solas.

“How so?” she asked.

“Whatever manner of being this Elder One may be, you have now bested him twice. Beings with delusions of godhood are unlikely to overlook such a slight,” said Solas.

His words hung with the weight of prophecy, but Gwendolyn ignored them. After all, there were potion ingredients that needed to be collected and Cullen had given her a stack of reports on trebuchet calibrations that she needed to get through before dinner. Who knew trebuchet calibration was so detailed? And so incredibly time consuming?

Within moments of leaving the conversation, Gwendolyn had completely forgotten Solas’ warning in favor of puzzling through, of all things, trebuchet calibrations.


	11. Shadows Fall

The Temple of Sacred Ashes was dark and gloomy when our forces arrived to close the Breach. The sky was clouded and tinged with the menacing green of the Breach, rocks floated as the odd physics of the Fade seeped into the area. The tension in the air was palpable. How many weeks had we spent working to this point? How long had we toiled and how many had suffered or died for this to happen? And now there we were, out forces and our mage allies, preparing to help the Herald close the Breach.

Cassandra, Solas, and Gwendolyn stood the closest, with the mages along the balconies and railings to offer their support. As Gwendolyn began to walk forward towards the Breach, the Seeker and Solas turned their attention to the mages.

“Mages!” said the Seeker, calling their attention.

“Focus past the Herald! Let her will draw from you!” said Solas.

As Gwendolyn moved forward, her mark began to spark and glow brightly, interacting with the rifts and the Breach itself. Her progress was slow moving forward, it clearly taking a lot out of her to do so. But soon she was directly below the Breach. The mages cast their support towards her and the mark glowed even brighter as she lifted her hand to the sky and a beam of light soared upward to the Breach.

There was an explosion of light and everyone was knocked backward to the ground, ears ringing and bodies sore, but as Cassandra rushed forward to inspect the situation, she found Gwendolyn still alive, and mercifully still conscience. She helped the Herald to her feet. “You did it.”

Cheers erupted from the soldiers and mages as they all gazed heavenward where the Breach used to be. Gone was the churning, glowing hole in the sky, replaced only be faint remnants of the terror that used to be.

\---

There was a massive celebration when everyone arrived back at Haven that night. Half the town was drunk, people were dancing and cheering to the music that blared. It was a triumph—a victory for all those involved. Finally, after all that hard work, we finally had something to show for it. The jubilation was contagious. People who had done nothing but argue since the very beginning sat around laughing and smiling. Strangers toasted to the Herald’s victory and to the optimistic future that was undoubtedly to come.

But for all the celebrations all around the town, the hero of the night was not partaking. She was tired—exhausted from the day she’d just had. She’d kept up appearances for a while, trying to smile and enjoy the evening, but Maker’s breath was she tired. All she wanted was to return to her quarters and sleep for a few days. But more than that, she couldn’t shake the feeling that this had been too easy. After all the difficulties she’d dealt with, there was just no way that this was the end of it. Her luck just wasn’t that good.

She stood by the balcony outside the chantry overlooking the celebrations below, wishing she could bring herself to feel that relieved or carefree.

Cullen walked over and joined her, much to her surprise. He had never actually sought her out before, so this was something of a change. He stood with his hands resting on the hilt of his sword, as he typically did.

“Commander,” she acknowledged.

“Herald,” said Cullen.

She continued to regard him curiously.

Cullen sighed heavily. “I must apologize, My Lady. The mages have proved themselves to be reasonable allies and they _did _close the Breach as you said. I was wrong to have doubted your judgment on the matter.”

“You had cause. And I can hardly pretend that the rebel mages were the perfect solution. They aren’t all innocent and I’m sure more than a few deserve your suspicion,” said Gwendolyn.

“Still, I must apologize. I fought you over the decision, but I was not there. You made a difficult decision when it needed to be made. I may not entirely agree with it, but it was your judgment call, and the result was a positive one, despite what I had originally feared,” said Cullen.

“Thank you, Commander. I…appreciate your honesty,” said Gwendolyn as she looked out over the jubilant townspeople.

He was quick to pick up on her mood. “Is something the matter?”

“This all just feels too easy. I know that the Breach is closed, but it doesn’t feel as if this is actually over,” said Gwendolyn.

“I doubt it is. Nothing worth doing is ever easy, if you can even call all that you have accomplished thus far ‘easy’,” said Cullen.

“It all just seems too straightforward,” frowned Gwendolyn.

“You ended the mage-templar war, stopped a Tevinter magister from accruing an army of mages, and experienced time travel; most would not consider such a thing to be straightforward,” said Cullen lightly.

She frowned at him. “You know what I mean.”

“I’m sure you’re right, but for now you may relax. Revel in your triumph over the Breach; the problems in the world will still be here in the morning,” said Cullen.

“I’m surprised you even understand the concept of ‘relaxing’, Commander,” said Gwendolyn in amusement.

Cullen smirked slightly, his smile pulling at the scar on his lip in a way that Gwendolyn found to be extremely diverting. “A common sentiment, I’m sure.”

“You surprise me, Commander,” said Gwendolyn. “I’m glad that you don’t take yourself quite as seriously as I had feared.”

“It is apparently bad for my health to do otherwise, or so Varric keeps reminding me,” said Cullen.

“Then perhaps it ought to be you and not I who relaxes tonight, Commander,” said Gwendolyn archly. “Unless you find yourself incapable of relaxing around this many mages?”

Cullen’s voice dropped a register as he spoke so that only she could hear. “If all mages were like you, perhaps I could.”

Gwendolyn blinked at him, feeling as blush spread through her cheeks and glad for the relative darkness.

Cullen returned to normal, as if nothing had happened, clearing his throat and avoiding her gaze. “I should, um, return to my duties. Good evening, Herald.”

With that, he walked away, leaving Gwendolyn standing there feeling more confused than ever about him. Where exactly did the two of them stand? Were they _friends_? Grudging allies at least? Since when was he capable of being charming? Was she merely tired, and so she thought he was? Was that really all this was? Was he maybe, just maybe, not as bad as she had once thought? No, he certainly wasn’t. Perhaps as time went on, they could be friends.

As Gwendolyn stood there, watching him melt into the crowd, she found that she rather enjoyed the idea of being friends. Who better to understand the views of someone who had spent her life in a Circle than someone _else _who had spent most of his life in a Circle, albeit from the opposite end of things? They really weren’t all that different, in the end. Maybe in time things would be easier between them.

Briefly, the idea occurred to her that she would very much like to be _more _than ‘just friends’ with the admittedly very handsome commander. He was absolutely a very attractive man. She did have eyes, after all. And she still refused to consider why she had reacted as she did upon seeing him in that wretched future she and Dorian had witnessed. But no, she chastised herself; it could never be. That was about as likely as her becoming the Queen of Antiva. For all his grudging acceptance of the mages, he still did not like them. She was tolerated because she was convenient for sealing rifts and had just sealed the Breach. That was all. Besides, everyone knew that mages were forbidden from such indulgences, and no one would know that better than someone who had once been a templar.

Sometime later, Cassandra joined her by the wall. “Solas confirms the heavens are scarred but calm. The Breach is sealed. We’ve reports of lingering rifts, and many questions remain, but this was a victory. Word of your heroism will spread.”

“You know how many were involved. Luck put me at the center, if you can call it that,” said Gwendolyn, quick to dismiss the praise.

“A strange kind of luck. I’m not sure if we need more or less,” said Cassandra. “But you’re right. This was a victory of alliance. One of the few in recent memory. With the Breach closed, that alliance will need new focus.”

As if answering her call, from the distance, the faint sounds of marching could be heard, and everything went to shit. The warning bells rang, and people began to panic, terrified of what the new danger was. Soldiers scrambled to get to their positions, townspeople ran in fright, and leaders took command.

“Forces approaching! To arms!” bellowed Cullen from somewhere in the camp.

Gwendolyn and Cassandra, from their position near the top of the hill in the town, could just now see the beginnings of the train of soldiers that were approaching, their torches bobbing as they marched. And there were many.

“What the…? We must get to the gates!” declared Cassandra as she drew her sword, her years of experience allowing her to remain calm in such a time of crisis.

Gwendolyn took one last look at the approaching army and swore under her breath. Maker, she hated it when she was right. Drawing her staff, she hurried after the Seeker, collecting Dorian and me along the way to the gates.

When we reached the gates, Cullen was already there more or less handling the situation and securing the gates, along with Josephine and Leliana.

“Cullen?” said Cassandra, asking for a report.

“One watchguard reporting. It’s a massive force, the bulk over the mountain,” said Cullen.

“Under what banner?” asked Josephine.

“None,” said Cullen.

“None?” gaped Josephine.

Gwendolyn approached the gates, watching the lights and shadows move in the gap between the doors and the ground. Something was going on out there, and by ‘out there’, she meant right outside the gates. Sure enough, not a second after it had drawn her attention, something slammed into the door, pounding on it.

A panicked young voice, perhaps belonging to a young man, accompanied the knocking. “I can’t come in unless you open!”

Thinking that it was a stranded townsperson, Gwendolyn opened the door, only to reveal a fairly startling scene. A dozen Venatori soldiers lay dead and a young man with messy light blonde hair wearing a floppy, wide-brimmed hat stood in the center of it, a dagger in each hand. Gwendolyn and Cullen both rushed outside, with the Commander brandishing his sword.

The young man looked up and spoke, rushing towards Gwendolyn. “I’m Cole. I came to warn you. To help. People are coming to hurt you. You probably already know.”

“What is this? What’s going on?” asked Gwendolyn with skeptical impatience.

“The templars come to kill you,” said Cole.

“Templars?” demanded Cullen, as he strode furiously forward. He turned to look at Gwendolyn. “Is this the Order’s response to our talks with the mages? Attacking blindly?”

Cole scampered a few feet away from Gwendolyn, or more specifically, away from an angry Cullen.

“The Red Templars went to the Elder One. You know him? He knows you. You took his mages,” said Cole, looking at Gwendolyn. He then pointed over the mountain where the army approached. “There!”

As he spoke, two figures appeared on the ridge. One was human, wearing armor infused with red lyrium and carrying a wicked broadsword. The other was…indescribably inhuman. He stood taller than a human—perhaps ten feet tall—with red lyrium fused to his body and deforming him. His skin was drawn in patches over the red lyrium that grey from his head and seemed to have replaced his very bones. He wore what might have once been the robes of a Tevinter magister or mage, with those feather shoulder guards they wear, but his chest was bear, with stretches of skin over red lyrium growths.

“I know that man…but this Elder One…” trailed off Cullen.

“He’s _very_ angry that you took his mages,” said Cole.

“Cullen! Give me a plan! Anything!” said Gwendolyn, her panic beginning to seep into her voice. The Circle had not trained her for this. 

“Haven is no fortress. If we are to withstand this monster, we must control the battle. Get out there and hit that force. Use everything you can!” said Cullen, nodding towards the trebuchets that stood as the town’s defenses. He then turned and addressed the soldiers behind him. “Mages! You—you have sanction to engage them! That is Samson. He will not make it easy! Inquisition! With the Herald! For your lives! For all of us!”

Gwendolyn, Cassandra, Dorian, and I plunged forward into battle, immediately heading for the northernmost trebuchet. And no sooner had we arrived than the Red Templars did as well. And these were like no templars we’d seen before. Some still seemed mostly human, though radiating the unmistakable red aura of the infection. But most—most could scarcely be called human. Like the Elder One who commanded them, they had red lyrium growths sprouting from them. For some, they still appeared mostly human, with the infection not having fully consumed them. But even worse than these second tier Red Templars were the corrupted ones, who had been transformed into beasts of red lyrium and rotting flesh, no longer even capable of proper speech. Our soldiers helped us, fighting for their lives as we helped defend the trebuchet against the waves of Red Templar soldiers, knights, marksmen, and horrors. 

The northern trebuchet clear and defended, they were able to fire on the enemy. But the other trebuchet wasn’t firing, and that wasn’t good. Leaving our soldiers to handle this one, the four of us ran over to the second outer trebuchet, only to find it overrun by Red Templars and our soldiers there dead. That left the four of us to defeat the Red Templars, aim, and fire the trebuchet. Gwendolyn manned the trebuchet, turning the aiming wheel as fast as she could as we stood guard and watched her back. When no further Red Templars attacked, she was able to fire easily enough, hitting the mountainside above the incoming trail of troops, burying them in an avalanche.

Our people cheered. Dorian clapped her on the back. Hope was restored as the Herald once more saved us all from certain doom. But our minor victory was short-lived. Mere moments after the avalanche had buried the army, a chilling roar echoed through the valley, making our blood run cold. There was no time to process the sight of the massive black dragon that appeared like a shadow before it belched red fire at the trebuchet we stood next to, utterly destroying it.

In the aftermath of the explosion, we slowly got to our feet, trying to shake the ringing out of our ears as the black dragon rained red fire down on the town.

“We can’t face it here! We have to…do something!” said Cassandra, struggling to keep a level head under the circumstances.

“Everyone to the gates!” ordered Gwendolyn.

We ran along the path outside of town, past the smithy where Gwendolyn helped Harritt quickly duck into his house to retrieve his personal effects. Hurrying forward, Cullen stood at the town gates, ushering people inside and barking orders.

“Move it! Move it! Inside! Now!” he called, gesturing towards us urgently.

We ran inside the walls and he pulled the massive doors shut to the town, sealing us all inside.

“We need everyone back to the chantry! It’s the only building that might hold against…that beast!” ordered Cullen. “At this point…just make them work for it.”

“The people of Haven are unlikely to survive without our aid,” said Dorian.

“We should rescue everyone we can on our way to the chantry,” I said.

Gwendolyn was way ahead of us, running up the stairs and immediately engaging with invading Red Templars to rescue Lysette, a templar who had joined the Inquisition at the beginning. Once she was confident that we had the situation taken care of, she darted up the path and broke down the door to a burning building, pulling out Seigret, the local merchant. More Red Templars attacked, but we took care of them as she ran to tavern, which was all but burning to the ground. Flissa, the serving girl, was injured but alive, and Gwendolyn rushed in and pulled her out just before a beam fell. From there, it was up to the apothecary and a small grouping of houses where Minaeve, the researcher, and Adan, the apothecary, were both unconscious, but alive. Dorian saw to Adan, reviving him with a quick spell, and Gwendolyn saw to Minaeve, the four of them getting out of there just as one of the houses exploded.

“We need to get to the chantry!” called Cassandra.

We ran up the hill and found Threnn trying to fight off an onslaught of Red Templars outside of the chantry. We arrived just barely in time to fight off her attackers and get to the chantry.

Cole and a severely wounded Chancellor Roderick greeted us at the door, ushering in soldiers and townspeople.

“Move! Keep going! The chantry is your shelter!” Roderick said, voice strained from his obvious pain.

We ran inside and soldiers sealed the doors behind us. Roderick collapsed and Cole caught him, leaning him gently against a wall.

“He tried to stop a templar. The blade went deep. He’s going to die,” said Cole.

“What a charming boy,” coughed Roderick.

Cullen appeared and ran over to Gwendolyn, the two of them clearly the ones running point on Haven’s survival.

“Herald! Our position is not good. That dragon stole back any time you might have earned us,” said Cullen.

“I’ve seen an Archdemon. I was in the Fade, but it looked like that,” said Cole.

“I don’t care what it looks like. It has cut a path for that army. They’ll kill everyone in Haven!” said Cullen.

“The Elder One doesn’t care about the village. He only wants the Herald,” said Cole.

Gwendolyn didn’t even hesitate. “If it’ll save everyone here, he can have me.”

“He’s too angry. He’ll crush everyone, even if he gets you, just to prove a point,” said Cole. “It won’t be easy to stop him. He has a dragon. I don’t like him.”

“You don’t like…?! There are no tactics to make this survivable,” said Cullen, turning to address Gwendolyn. “The only thing that slowed them was the avalanche. We could turn the remaining trebuchets, cause one last slide.”

“We’re overrun. To hit the enemy, we’d bury Haven,” said Gwendolyn.

“We’re dying. But we can decide how. Many don’t get that choice,” said Cullen.

Roderick looked at Cole and mumbled something and Cole nodded. “Yes, that. Chancellor Roderick can help. He wants to say it before he dies.”

“There is a path. You wouldn’t know it unless you’d made the summer pilgrimage, as I have. The people can escape. She must have shown me. Andraste must have shown me so I could…tell you,” said Roderick.

“What are you talking about?” asked Gwendolyn.

“It was whim that I walked the path. I did not mean to start—it was overgrown. Now, with so many in the Conclave dead, to be the only one who remembers…I don’t know, Herald, if this simple memory can save us. This could be more than mere accident. _You _could be more,” said Roderick.

Gwendolyn turned to Cullen. “Cullen, can you get them out? Lead everyone out of Haven?”

“If he’s right about the path, but it would take time. There would need to be a distraction,” said Cullen.

“I’ll distract them. If that thing is here for me, then I’ll make him fight for it,” said Gwendolyn.

“And what of you? When the mountain falls, what of your escape?” asked Cullen.

Gwendolyn turned away, and Cullen’s expression shifted as he realized what she was planning to do. It lasted only a moment before his mask of professionalism reappeared, even as his voice betrayed him. “Perhaps you will surprise it, find a way…”

Gwendolyn didn’t look at him.

“Well, my friend, you will _not _be doing this alone. Can’t have you stealing the spotlight entirely, can I?” said Dorian.

“As will we. Won’t we, _Varric_,” said Cassandra, giving me a sharp look.

“What do you take me for, Seeker? I wasn’t abandoning ship,” I said.

Cullen looked at Gwendolyn for only a moment longer before turning and addressing his men. “Inquisition! Follow Chancellor Roderick through the chantry! Move!”

Cole helped Roderick to his feet and draped an arm over his shoulder.

“Herald, if you are meant for this, if the Inquisition is meant for this, I pray for you,” said Roderick.

Gwendolyn nodded to him as Cole led Roderick further into the chantry and towards their escape route.

Soldiers ran past to the exit and left through the front door as Cullen turned to her once more. “They’ll load the trebuchets. Keep the Elder One’s attention until we’re above the tree line. We’ll give the signal when we’re ready.”

Gwendolyn nodded and headed for the door.

“If we are to have a chance—if _you _are to have a chance—let that thing hear you,” said Cullen.

With that, we all went our separate ways. The four of us to be the distraction, and the rest of them to head to safety. Of course, we’d no sooner left the building than Gwendolyn seized command and let us all know it.

“The moment that trebuchet is ready to fire, the three of you are to get out of here, you understand? It shouldn’t take long for you three to regroup with the others and get to safety. Send up a flare when you’re safe and I’ll fire the trebuchet,” ordered Gwendolyn, her gaze leaving no room for argument.

“You really expect us to leave you to die?” said Dorian.

Her glare was positively lethal as she turned to him. “When I give the order, you head to safety. I will not have others die needlessly for this. We’ve lost enough people already today; I will not allow my friends to sacrifice themselves as well. And if you do, so help me I will track you down in the afterlife and throttle you.”

Her point made, we ran through the town, through the devastation and smoldering ruin, to the inner defenses and the last remaining trebuchet. Red Templars were on us almost immediately. Clearly no one was going to make this easy for us, least of all for her. Dorian cast barriers over Gwendolyn as she struggled to aim the trebuchet amidst the chaos around us. She had to stop every few seconds as it was to fight of the onslaught of Red Templars, and it became clear that we were all but overwhelmed.

And then, the behemoth appeared.

It was massive, a fifteen-foot-tall monster made of red lyrium and barely even humanoid in shape.

“I’m too pretty to die!” panicked Dorian as the behemoth charged him.

Gwendolyn cast a barrier over him, then a wall of ice in front of him. The mages worked together against the monster, slowing its progress. Even so, the thing was something else. It cast walls of red lyrium around and swung its club-like fist, knocked Gwendolyn back against the rocks. The other Red Templars taken care of, we focused our attacks on the behemoth, struggling to take it down. In the end, it was Dorian who struck the killing blow, dispatching it with a bolt of lightning.

Gwendolyn stumbled over to the trebuchet and resumed the aiming process, yelling at us through her pain and gritted teeth. “Go! Now! I can take care of this!”

“But—” began Dorian.

“NOW!” she yelled.

There was no argument to be had. And so, as the mechanism clicked into place, we ran.

We’d no sooner cleared the area then the dragon reappeared and flew straight for her, breathing fire down upon the area and hitting a few crates, causing an explosion. Gwendolyn was thrown backward into the snow as fire raged around her.

She was only just coming to and barely conscious as a looming, menacing figure appeared through the fire, walking straight toward her. She sat up, clutching her head, and got slowly to her feet as the Elder One himself strode forward. He glared down at her, even more frightening up close than at a distance. But before a conversation could be had, loud crashes could be heard and the ground shook. Gwendolyn whipped around to see the black dragon, with red crystals growing out of it, bounding towards her on the ground. It roared in her face, its massive jaws mere feet from her. And so, she was surrounded, and definitely going to die.

“Enough!” boomed the Elder One, a Tevinter accent, his voice low and threatening.

Gwendolyn turned slowly to face the Elder One.

“Pretender. You toy with forces beyond your ken. No more,” said the Elder One.

She had to keep him talking. This was pointless if she didn’t keep him talking. “What are you? Why are you doing this?”

“Mortals beg for truth they cannot have. It is beyond what you are, what I once was,” said the Elder One. “Know me. Know what you have pretended to be. Exalt the Elder One! The _will _that is Corypheus!”

Well, shit.

He held out his claw-like hand before him. “You will kneel.”

“You’re forcing this fight for no reason!” she said defiantly.

“You will resist. You will always resist. It matters not,” said Corypheus as he held up something in his left hand, a metal orb with swirling designs covering it. He powered it, making it glow with red magic. “I am here for the Anchor. The process of removing it begins now.”

He thrust his other hand forward, glowing with magic, and Gwendolyn’s left hand began to spark and glow painfully.

“It is your fault, ‘Herald’. You interrupted a ritual years in the planning, and instead of dying, you stole its purpose. I do not know how you survived, but what marks you as ‘touched’, what you flail at rifts, I crafted to assault the very heavens.”

Corypheus sparked his red magic, wrapping her glowing green hand in red light. She fell to her knees as the dragon roared behind her.

“And you used the Anchor to undo my work! The gall!” continued Corypheus.

“What is this thing meant to do?” she demanded, red and green magic swirling around her and sparking.

“It is meant to bring certainty where there is none. For you, the certainty that I would always come for it,” said Corypheus. He ceased his magical assault, strode forward, and lifted her effortlessly off the ground by her left arm, raising her high into the air. “I once breached the Fade in the name of another, to serve the Old Gods of the empire _in person_. I found only chaos and corruption. Dead whispers. For a thousand years I was confused. No more. I have gathered the _will _to return under no name but my own, to champion withered Tevinter and correct this blighted world. Beg that I succeed, for I have seen the throne of the gods, and _it was empty_!”

He threw her, then, and she slammed bodily into the metal bracing of the trebuchet with a cry. Something was definitely broken. She slipped to the ground, clutching her side in pain. Ribs. Ribs were what was broken. Or cracked. Something. Maker, everything hurt.

“The Anchor is permanent. You have spoiled it with your stumbling,” said Corypheus.

Gwendolyn glanced around, saw a sword, picked it up, and scrambled to her feet in a last-ditch effort of defiance.

Corypehus and the dragon moved in on her. “So be it. I will begin again, find another way to give this world a nation—and _god_—it requires.”

The flares went up in the distance behind them. Her friends were safe. The people of Haven were safe.

“And you. I will not suffer even an unknowing rival. You _must _die,” said Corypheus.

Gwendolyn glanced briefly to her left where the trebuchet release was and then looked back to Corypheus, holding that sword as if she actually knew what to do with the blasted thing. She was going to die, almost definitely, but she was going to die protecting the people she cared about and on her own damn terms. But not before letting this shithead know it. “Your arrogance blinds you. Thank you for the valuable insight, but that’s not why I kept you talking.”

She turned and kicked the trebuchet release and the projectile flew through the air, hitting the mountain right where it needed to. Gwendolyn ran as the dragon picked Corypheus up in its claws and flew off to safety, just as the avalanche reached the town and utterly buried Haven. 

\---

How to describe the Inquisition camp in the Frostbacks. Despondent? Frigid? Nihilistic? We’d all seen what had happened. From our vantage point on the mountain, everyone there had seen the Herald, so small yet so brave, against Corypheus and his dragon. We’d watched her look certain death in the face and launch the trebuchet, securing our escape, burying the valley, and likely killing herself in the process.

No one was taking it well, but some were taking it worse than others.

Those of us who had been down there with her blamed ourselves, but no one more so than Dorian. He and Gwendolyn had already been through one nightmarish, no win scenario before. They’d seen how dark the future could become and emerged close friends because of it. But now she was gone, and surely there was something he could have done to prevent it. He kept replaying the events over and over in his mind, thinking of all the ways that he potentially might have rescued her, only to come up empty. The situation was hopeless, and he had let his closest friend die.

Cassandra tried not to show it, but she wasn’t taking it well either. The many trees near out camp that she’d slashed repeatedly with her sword stood testament to that. She barked orders harshly, even angrier than usual, which did nothing to help things or improve the mental state of the frightened masses. She occupied most of her time by helping Leliana and Cullen organize the camp, seeing to it that the people were fed and kept warm and that the camp was secure.

Oh yes, and there was the Commander. To say that he threw himself into his work would have been an understatement. He organized patrols, established perimeter guards, plotted all the potential paths they could take through the mountains—anything to keep occupied. But the loss of Haven and of the Herald weighed heavily on him. He had been in charge of defense. _He _was supposed to keep them all safe. And yet, he had failed, at least in his mind. He should have done something. Should have found a way to protect everyone—including her. He had promised to protect her, and yet, she’d given herself up for them without so much as a second thought. And to make matters even worse, she’d been right about the templars all along. And Samson…Maker, Cullen _knew _the Elder One’s general from his time in Kirkwall. Samson had been his _roommate_. And now he led the corrupted Order with this monstrous Elder One and his dragon and these Venatori, all to the end of destroying the Inquisition and conquering Thedas for Tevinter. And now, because of his failure, the only one who had stood a chance of stopping this nightmare from becoming a reality was dead. She had been right not to trust him. _He _didn’t even trust himself. Not now. Not after all this.

And as if things weren’t bleak enough, there was the fact that we were camped in the Frostback Mountains. It was freezing cold—much colder than Haven—and snowing. The wind blasted us and whipped around camp, wolves howled in the distance, and there could never be enough fires lit. And so, there we were, the remnants of the Inquisition, freezing by little campfires in the mountains, hopeless and lost.

It was bad.

The night after Haven fell, things were going about as well as one might expect. Everyone was moping, people were eating stew while wrapped in blankets, Cassandra was going her best to take down a tree with only a short sword—the usual. But as the Commander stood at his makeshift command center, he suddenly stopped what he was doing and dug into his pocket. He glanced down at his palm, registered the glowing vial and what it meant, and then bolted for the eastern edge of the camp.

Cassandra called after him and followed, thinking there was a security breach. But Dorian realized what it was immediately and joined in pursuit. They ran up the hill towards a small, half-frozen figure that had just collapsed into the snow.

“There! It’s her!” exclaimed Cullen.

“Thank the Maker!” said Cassandra.

Dorian tossed Cullen a blanket and the Commander caught it just as he reached the Herald, broken and cold, but still somehow alive. She was an ice mage, after all, and that mild resistance to frost may have been the only thing that truly saved her.

She looked up at him with tired, pained eyes, almost as if she couldn’t believe he was actually there. “Cullen?”

He wrapped her in the blanket and scooped her up into his arms. “You’re safe now. We’ll get you to the healers.”

Her only response was to rest her head on his mantle and pass out from sheer exhaustion.

Needless to say, it caused quite the stir to have the Commander carry the unconscious, yet miraculously alive, Herald through camp and into the healer’s tent with the mysterious Tevinter mage trailing after, making comments about hypothermia and recommended treatments. The healers descended upon her, making a fuss and seeing to her many wounds and various conditions. She was in good hands in that respect, at least. But Cullen and Dorian—otherwise known as the self-appointed protectorate of the Lady Herald—were hovering. And healers don’t like it when you hover and fuss over the patients that they are already hovering and fussing over.

It took all of two minutes for them both to be kicked out of the healer’s tent and barred from reentry. And though the two men had never seen eye to eye over anything before, there was a certain solidarity that was established in that moment. For both, it seemed, blamed themselves entirely for the lady’s condition and both now felt an overwhelming need to protect her. So, in that, at least, they were in agreement.

\--- 

The thing about the Herald now being alive and a modicum of hope being restored was that now command actually needed to come up with some semblance of a plan. And the problem with that was, well, that none of them could agree on a course of action. And were loudly yelling about it in the center of camp, just outside of the healing tent.

“What would you have me tell them? This isn’t what I asked them to do!” argued Cullen.

“We cannot simply ignore this! We must find a way!” said Cassandra.

“And who put you in charge? We need a consensus, or we have nothing!” shot back Cullen.

“Please, we must use reason! Without the infrastructure of the Inquisition, we’re hobbled,” said Josephine.

“That can’t come from nowhere!” exclaimed Cullen.

“She didn’t say it could!” said Leliana.

“Enough!” roared Cassandra. “This is getting us nowhere!”

“Well, we’re agreed on that much!” fumed Cullen.

Inside the healing tent, Gwendolyn, still tired and not entirely recovered, sat up and stared out at the arguing advisors, wondering why Cullen and Cassandra were so loud.

Mother Giselle, who sat vigil at the Herald’s side, touched her shoulder gently. “Shh, you need rest.”

“They’ve been at it for hours,” groaned Gwendolyn.

“They have that luxury, thanks to you. The enemy could not follow, and with time to doubt, we turn to blame,” said Mother Giselle. “Infighting may threaten as much as this Corypheus.”

“Well, yelling about it won’t help. All it does is give us a headache—another headache,” said Gwendolyn, who absolutely had a headache.

“Our leaders struggle because of what we survivors witnessed. We saw our defender stand…and fall. And now we have seen her _return_,” said Mother Giselle. Gwendolyn slowly sat up and swung her legs over the side of the bed, and Mother Giselle kept talking. “The more the enemy is beyond us, the more miraculous your actions appear. And the more our trials seem ordained. That is hard to accept, no? What ‘we’ have been called to endure? What ‘we’, perhaps, must come to believe?”

“I escaped the avalanche. Barely, perhaps, but I didn’t die,” said Gwendolyn dully.

“Of course, and the dead cannot return from across the Veil. But the people know what they saw. Or, perhaps, what they needed to see. The Maker works both in the moment, and in how it is remembered. Can we truly know the heavens are _not _with us?” said Mother Giselle.

“I appreciate the sentiment, Mother Giselle, but faith and hope aren’t going to defeat Corypheus alone,” said Gwendolyn.

And with that, she got up and walked over to the edge of the tent to survey the damage. Josephine was sitting on a bench by the fire staring at the ground and perhaps crying. Leliana was sitting on the ground beside her, hugging her knees with her head down. Cullen was on the other side of the circle, staring at paperwork distractedly. Cassandra was staring at maps. None of them were talking. None of them were talking. Not to each other and not to anyone else. It was bad.

And right about then is when Gwendolyn Trevelyan was about to make the shift in the minds of the people from being just a girl to some semi-divine being.

Mother Giselle emerged from the tent and began singing the first lines of _The Dawn Will Come_, her voice echoing through the camp. She sang the first verse alone, but soon Leliana joined in, devout Orlesian bard that she was. The singing had a snowball effect. More and more people began singing, and pretty soon the entire camp was singing _The Dawn Will Come_ and people were taking a knee before the Herald. It must have been overwhelming, to just be standing there, having a perfectly uncomfortable day as it was, and then to suddenly have the entire Inquisition singing and bowing down to her. If the look on her face was anything to go by, she had not started off her day by wanting a religious movement to be formed around her.

When the song ended, and the camp was miraculously in high spirits, Mother Giselle said, “An army needs more than an enemy. It needs a cause.”

As Gwendolyn stared after Mother Giselle, her eye twitching slightly and her headache _worse_ than it had been before, Solas appeared next to her briefly. “A word?”

He walked off, with her following close behind, and brought her to the outskirts of the camp where a torch was stuck into the ground. He strode over to it and lit it with veilfire, casting an eerie blue glow around the frozen landscape.

“A wise woman, worth heeding. Her kind understand the moments that unify a cause. Or fracture it. The orb Corypheus carried, the power he used against you—it is elven. Corypheus used the orb to open the Breach. Unlocking it must have caused the explosion that destroyed the Conclave,” explained Solas. “I do not yet know how Corypheus survived…nor am I certain how people will react when they learn of the orb’s origin.”

Gwendolyn’s head was pounding too much to deal with this bullshit. “All right, what is it and how do you know about it?”

“They were foci, used to channel ancient magicks. I have seen such things in the Fade, old memories of older magic. Corypheus may think it Tevinter. His empire’s magic was built on the bones of my people. Knowing or not, he risks out alliance. I cannot allow it,” said Solas. He did not elaborate.

“This whole mess is confusing. I can see how elves might be an easy target. Then again, lost in the mountains like this, it’ll be hard for them to blame you for anything when they’re more concerned with freezing to death,” said Gwendolyn tiredly.

“I may be able to help with that. By attacking the Inquisition, Corypheus has changed it. Changed _you_. Scout to the north. Be their guide. There is a place that waits for a force to hold it. There is a place where the Inquisition can build…grow…” said Solas.

Gwendolyn nodded. Anything was better than sitting around waiting to die like this.

\---

The Inquisition’s journey through the Frostbacks is one that people write songs of and tell stories of. They’ll tell you of how the Herald of Andraste miraculously survived Haven, only to lead us to safety and be our guide through the mountains, as we made almost a pilgrimage or exodus to our destination. And yes, to some extent, that’s what it was. We trudged through the snow for what felt like an age, through the mountains, just to get there.

But what the songs don’t mention, and no story will tell you, is the juxtaposition of imagery she was. The Herald of Andraste, who mind you was wearing all white, light grey, and a silver, led the way, taking every moment to stand on top of large rocky outcroppings majestically, her hair and coat floating in the breeze. Surrounded by snow and ice, looking like an ice princess, it was easy to tell why the overwhelming majority of the Inquisition thought she was sent directly by Andraste to save us. But then, just as that image would happen, Dorian and Cullen would appear. Dorian—with his warm Tevinter blood—was not handling the cold well _at all_ and would take the moment to remind her that the longer she stood around, the better his chances of freezing to death were. Cullen would just begin fretting about her injuring herself and asking her to please for the love of Andraste get down from there. And because Gwendolyn was rather enjoying climbing rocks and having the Commander fuss over her, she was almost guaranteed to put her hands on her hips and start sassing the man.

And so, Gwendolyn Trevelyan may have been the Herald of Andraste sent to save us, but she was still very much human. And, in my opinion, very much on her way to winning me money in our betting pool.

It was midmorning in the third week of our little trip through the mountains when we came to a stop. Gwendolyn stood on the top of a smaller rock on the edge of a cliff and sat down heavily, gaping at the site in front of her. Solas stood on the rock beside her, smiling smugly. Josephine, Leliana, Cassandra, and Cullen all approached from behind, wondering what was going on, only to also stop and gape at what was in front of them.

On the other side of the canyon was a castle—a massive fortress built into the mountain, entirely empty and just waiting for them to arrive. The grey structure was connected to a second peak by a long stone bridge with a watchtower that led down to a path along a frozen river down below. And even from a distance, you could see the tops of trees growing in the courtyard, a regular haven in the otherwise emptiness of the mountains.

Solas smiled as he looked out at the castle. “Skyhold.”


	12. Skyhold

As it turned out, Skyhold was only really about a day’s ride from where Haven was, provided you weren’t trudging through the snow in the wrong direction and actually knew how to get there on roads. Our proximity to relative civilization was astounding, considering that up there in the Frostbacks in our isolated castle, we were very much alone. Surprising, yet extremely convenient when you suddenly had a fortress to remodel and the masses to supply, outfit, and feed.

Skyhold was a bit of a curiosity, to be honest. Here was this massive abandoned fortress in the middle of nowhere, and seemingly no one nation or group could take responsibility for it. The place certainly _looked _Fereldan in style, yet there were elven, dwarven, and even Avaar influences everywhere. And that’s not even mentioning the fact that in the middle of the frozen wilderness, Skyhold seemed to have a temperate climate, complete with happy little trees and a flower garden. Where did this place come from? Why was there it there? And how did _Solas _know to find the damn place? Well, the answer to that was probably just “the Fade”, but _still_.

But as miraculously intact as the majority of the castle was, there were some major renovations that needed to happen. Several bridges connecting towers needed to be repaired, most of the roofs had major holes in them, the interior rooms were a mess, and the dungeon, well, dropped off to nothing after a few cells. The place had clearly seen better days, but as far as the Inquisition was concerned, it was just the thing we’d needed.

As the Inquisition as an organization got its new beginning, it was time to address something else to properly complete the setup. And in that, at least, the advisors were unanimously agreed.

There was nothing subtle about it when Gwendolyn stepped out of the castle one day to find Cassandra, Leliana, Josephine, and Cullen huddled together whispering in the courtyard. Clearly, something was afoot. And when Cassandra waved her over and the other three practically ran away, Gwendolyn became suspicious.

“They arrive daily from every settlement in the region. Skyhold is becoming a pilgrimage,” said Cassandra as Gwendolyn approached, nodding towards the civilians in the courtyard. Cassandra began walking up the staircase to the second level of the courtyard. “If word has reached these people, it will have reached the Elder One. We have the walls and numbers to put up a fight here, but this threat is far beyond the war we anticipated. But we now know what allowed you to stand against Corypheus, what drew him to you.”

They came to a stop at the top of the staircase and Gwendolyn looked down at her mark. She was sick of having to explain this to people. “He came for this, and now it’s useless to him, so he wants me dead. That’s it.”

“The Anchor has power, but it’s not why you’re still standing here,” said Cassandra simply. They started walking again. “Your decisions let us heal the sky. Your determination brought us out of Haven. You are that creature’s rival because of what _you _did. And we know it. All of us.”

They began mounting the stairs that led up to the main castle and stopped on the mid platform, where Leliana stood with a ceremonial sword.

“The Inquisition requires a leader: the one who has _already _been leading it,” continued Cassandra.

Gwendolyn looked between the two women and then out to the lower courtyard where seemingly the entire Inquisition had been gathered.

“You,” said Cassandra.

“_Me_? You want a mage to leader the Inquisition? It’s unanimous? You all have that much confidence in me?” gaped Gwendolyn in complete and total disbelief.

“All of these people have their lives because of you. They will follow,” said Cassandra.

“That wasn’t the question,” said Gwendolyn.

“I will not lie. Handing this power to anyone is troubling. But I have to believe this is meant to be. There would be no Inquisition without you. How it will serve, how you lead—that must be yours to decide,” said Cassandra.

Leliana presented Gwendolyn with the sword and she took it, albeit reluctantly. “Corypheus will never let me live in peace. He’s made that clear. He intends to be a god and rule over us all. He has to be stopped. We will defeat him and we will restore peace and order to Thedas,” said Gwendolyn, not setting the bar high in the slightest.

“Wherever you lead us,” said Cassandra as she moved to address the crowd, standing to Gwendolyn’s right as Leliana stood on the left. “Have our people been told?”

“They have. And soon, the world,” replied Josephine.

“Commander, will they follow?” called Cassandra.

Cullen turned to the soldiers and people behind him in the courtyard, proving an expert at rallying troops. “Inquisition! Will you follow?” A cheer roared through the ranks. “Will you fight? Will we triumph?” The cheering hadn’t stopped, if anything, it had only grown louder. Cullen drew his sword as he turned around and pointed to the platform. “Your leader! Your Herald! Your _Inquisitor!_”

Just like that, the Inquisition was reborn. We had the people. We had the stronghold. And now, we had the Inquisitor.

Immediately after the ceremony, they got to work. The Inquisitor and her three advisors headed up the stairs into the main hall of the castle, ready to start planning their next move. The place was a mess, with fallen chandeliers, broken beams, shattered glass, and more than a few holes in the roof, but soon, it would be something far grander.

“So, this is where it begins,” said Cullen as he looked around.

“It began in the courtyard. This is where we turn that promise into action,” said Leliana.

“But what do we do? We know nothing about this Corypheus except that he wanted your mark,” said Josephine.

“Well, he wants to restore Tevinter. Is this a prelude to war with the Imperium?” said Gwendolyn.

“I get the feeling we’re dealing with extremists, not the vanguard of a true invasion,” said Cullen.

“That’s comforting,” said Gwendolyn.

“Tevinter is not the Imperium of a thousand years ago. What Corypheus yearns to ‘restore’ no longer exists,” said Josephine. As an afterthought, she added, “Though they would shed no tears if the south fells to chaos, I’m certain.”

“Okay, so Tevinter probably isn’t going to be much of a problem. Corypheus said he wanted to enter the Black City, that this would make him a god,” said Gwendolyn.

“He is willing to tear this world apart to reach the next. It won’t matter if he’s wrong,” said Leliana.

“What if he’s not wrong? If he finds some other way into the Fade…” said Cullen.

“Then he gains the power he seeks or unleashes catastrophe on us all,” said Leliana.

“So, let’s not let that happen. But if he’s a magister that entered the Fade, like in the Chantry story about the origin of the Blights, then could his dragon really be an Archdemon?” said Gwendolyn.

“It would mean the beginning of another Blight,” said Leliana.

“We’ve seen no darkspawn other than Corypheus himself. Perhaps it’s not an Archdemon at all, but something different?” said Josephine hopefully.

“Whatever it is, it’s dangerous. Commanding such a creature gives Corypheus an advantage we can’t ignore,” said Cullen.

“Right…but he’s not exactly hiding with everything he’s done, so someone out there must know _something _about Corypheus,” said Gwendolyn.

“Unless they saw him on the field, most will not believe he even exists,” said Cullen.

“We do have one advantage: we know what Corypheus intends to do _next_,” said Leliana. “In that strange future you experienced, Empress Celene had been assassinated.”

“Imagine the chaos her death would cause. With his army…” said Josephine.

“An army he’ll bolster with a massive force of demons, or so the future tells us,” said Cullen.

“Corypheus could conquer the entire south of Thedas, god or no god,” said Josephine.

Leliana sighed. “I’d feel better if we knew more about what we were dealing with.”

Enter: me. I strode into the main hall ready and waiting to help, and, well, to confess to something. “I know someone who can help with that.”

The four of them turned to look at me in surprise.

“Everyone acting all inspirational jogged my memory, so I sent a message to an old friend,” I said. “She’s crossed paths with Corypheus before and may know more about what he’s doing. She can help.”

“All right. I’m always looking for new allies. Introduce me,” said Gwendolyn. She had no idea what was going on.

I glanced around to make sure that certain other parties were not hiding in the room ready to strike me down like a vengeful god. “Parading around might cause a fuss. It’s better for you to meet privately. On the battlements.”

Leliana and Josephine exchanged a look. Cullen narrowed his eyes at me. They all knew exactly who I was talking about.

“Trust me. It’s complicated,” I said before taking my leave.

As I left, Josephine said, “Well, then. We stand ready to move on both of these concerns.”

“On your order, Inquisitor,” said Cullen.

“I know one thing: if Varric has brought who I _think _he has, Cassandra is going to kill him,” said Leliana.

\--- 

The Inquisitor was making her rounds about Skyhold, checking up on everyone as she did. She started outside, seeing as it was such a lovely day, and happened first upon the Commander at his makeshift command post in the lower courtyard. With a dilapidated castle to contend with, much now rested on his shoulders. He was busy and had been for quite some time now, and it was showing. The man looked tired, exhausted, really, but he soldiered on, because that’s just the kind of man he was.

“Send men to scout the area. We need to know what’s out there,” he ordered the scouts around him.

“Yes, ser!” said one of the scouts enthusiastically before most of them walked away.

“Commander. Soldiers have been assigned temporary quarters,” said a scout—Jim.

“Very good. I’ll need an update on the armory as well,” said Cullen.

The scout didn’t move, just looked around.

Cullen looked at him irritably. “Now!”

The scout blanched and ran off.

As Gwendolyn approached, Cullen looked up and addressed her, rubbing the back of his neck. “We set up as best we could at Haven but could never prepare for an Archdemon—or whatever it was. With some warning, we might have…”

“Do you ever sleep?” she asked, noticing immediately how exhausted he looked.

“There’s far too much to do. If Corypheus strikes again, we may not be able to withdraw…and I wouldn’t want to. We must be ready,” said Cullen, returning his attention to the plans on the table. “Work on Skyhold is underway, guard rotations established. We should have everything on course within the week. We will not run from here, Inquisitor.”

“How many were lost?” asked Gwendolyn.

“Most of our people made it to Skyhold. It could have been worse,” allowed Cullen. He glanced up at her. “Morale was low but has improved greatly since you accepted the role of Inquisitor.”

“Everyone seems to have such faith in my leadership. I hope I’m ready. Inquisitor Trevelyan. You know, I wasn’t exactly looking for another title. It sounds a bit odd, don’t you think?” said Gwendolyn.

“Not at all,” said Cullen.

“Is that the _official_ response?” asked Gwendolyn.

Cullen chuckled. “I suppose it is. But it’s the truth.” He straightened up and rested his hands hand on the hilt of his sword. “You won’t have to carry the Inquisition alone, although it must feel like it. We needed a leader; you have proven yourself.”

“Thank you, Cullen,” said Gwendolyn. Given their contentious relationship thus far, this meant quite a bit coming from him.

He smirked at her, as he often did, and the tension in the air was palpable, but in a different way than it had been in Haven. Something was different between them now. It was if whatever barriers that had separated them before had been brought down with the mountain. Now they were united, both in common goal and trust. And maybe, just maybe, in something more.

Gwendolyn took a breath and looked at her hands as she fidgeted with them. “Our escape from Haven…it was close. I’m relieved that you…that, uh, so many made it out.”

Cullen’s voice dropped to a lower register, become quiet and gentle. “As am I.”

He cast his gaze away from her in the silence that followed, and she made as if to leave, only for him to keep talking, touching her arm briefly to catch her attention. “You stayed behind. You could have—I will not allow the events at Haven to happen again. You have my word.”

His eyes lingered on her, intense and warm like molten sunlight, and it was in that moment that Gwendolyn Trevelyan realized that she might have a problem. And because she didn’t quite know what to do with this information and her commander was still looking at her like that, she took her leave and went to go continue her rounds.

In the upper courtyard, she found Vivienne, Sera, Iron Bull, and Blackwall. Vivienne was condescending and a bit rude about Haven being indefensible and this being much more suitable. Sera was, well, not handling the existence of Corypheus well, seeing as it implied a whole slew of metaphysical nonsense she didn’t want to deal with. Iron Bull wanted her to go undercover so that she could meet some of the Inquisition soldiers without them knowing who she was. And Blackwall just wanted to survey the fortifications.

Heading inside, and looking to explore, Gwendolyn headed into the rotunda, which had three tiers. The first level was barely an entryway, and Solas had adapted it to use as his study, painting murals on the walls for some reason. The second floor had the library and the third was the rookery. And so, after meeting briefly with Solas and suffering through what amounted to an art history lecture, she headed up to the second floor and ran into Dorian.

“Brilliant, isn’t it? One moment you’re trying to restore order in a world gone mad. That should be enough for anyone to handle, yes? Then, out of nowhere, an Archdemon appears and kicks you in the head. ‘What? You thought this would be easy?’ ‘No, I was just hoping you wouldn’t crush our village like an anthill.’ ‘Sorry about that! Archdemons like to crush, you know. Can’t be helped’. Am I speaking too quickly for you?” ranted Dorian, turning from the bookshelf to look at her.

“You don’t need to worry about me. I can keep up,” said Gwendolyn.

“Yes, I noticed that,” said Dorian in amusement.

“Did you now?” said Gwendolyn archly.

“Certainly. If you were a slack-jawed yokel, you’d already be dead,” said Dorian flippantly. “I’d always assumed the ‘Elder One’ behind the Venatori was a magister, but this…is something else completely. In Tevinter, they say the Chantry’s tales of magisters starting the Blight are just that: tales. But here we are. One of these very magisters: a darkspawn.”

“Who does the Imperium say started the Blight?” asked Gwendolyn.

“You know how it is. ‘Not us’,” said Dorian tiredly. “They say darkspawn were always there; magisters and Blight aren’t even related. Is that a surprise? No one wants to admit they shit the bed. But if Corypheus is one of the magisters who entered the Black City and he’s darkspawn…what other explanation is there?”

“You know, we only know what he _claims_ to be,” said Gwendolyn.

“True. He might be a convincing liar. Or delusional. Or insane. But how many delusional maniacs are going to have that knowledge? He broke on the Fade. I knew what I was taught couldn’t be the whole truth, but I assumed there had to be a kernel of it. Somewhere. But no. It was just us all along. We destroyed the world,” said Dorian.

“Dorian, you didn’t do anything. Those men did. A _thousand_ years ago,” said Gwendolyn.

“True, except that one of them is up and walking around right now,” said Dorian. “Not to mention that I have idiot countrymen who would happily follow him down that path again. No one will thank me, whatever happens. No one will thank you either. You know that, yes?”

“That’s not why I’m doing this,” frowned Gwendolyn.

“I knew there was something clever about you. All I know is this: Corypheus needs to be stopped. Men like him ruined my homeland; I won’t stand by and let him ruin the world,” said Dorian. With that, he began to walk away to a different part of the library, and then stopped and turned to her once more. “Oh, and congratulations on that whole leading-the-Inquisition thing, by the way. Best of luck in that endeavor. Given the way everyone seems to treat you southern mages, I’m sure you’ll need it.”

After that uplifting conversation with Dorian, Gwendolyn headed up to the rookery to check in with Leliana, but she was had little to report beyond self-blame for the events of Haven, so the Inquisitor continued on her way. She decided to see how Josephine was doing, passing through the great hall under construction as she went. Though there was scaffolding everywhere and men actively working on fixing everything, Orlesian nobles still found a way to stand around and gossip.

“So, this is the Inquisition? Rather shabby, I should think,” scoffed one.

“Perhaps in time it will improve,” said another optimistically.

“I should hope so,” huffed the first.

“Committed to independence I hear. And such a way with words too. Shame,” said a nobleman.

“A pretty face as well, except for that hideous scar. Shame,” said the noblewoman he spoke to.

Gwendolyn pushed open the door to Josephine’s office and sitting room that stood as the room in between the great hall and the hall to the war room. The Ambassador sat at her desk by the hearth writing a letter.

“Ah, Inquisitor. How are you finding Skyhold?” asked Josephine.

“It’s massive. I got lost on my way to breakfast this morning,” said Gwendolyn.

“And yet, it is in a state of disrepair. Broken walls, missing roofs, roosting animals—the list goes on. We _must_ make repairs as soon as possible so that our stronghold reflects our organization’s strength and prestige,” said Josephine.

“Given what happened at Haven, I _think_ our guests will be forgiving for at least a little while,” said Gwendolyn lightly.

“When Haven fell, do you know who was the first to pick up arms? The workers. They believed in our cause with all that they had. And they were cut down. It was…it is…far more terrible than I would have thought. How…how do you bear it?” asked Josephine, looking up at Gwendolyn with a pained expression.

“I try not to dwell on it. All I can say is to live day by day, not be conquered by our sorrows. The best thing we can do for those we lost is to keep moving forward and live for a better tomorrow, not for a darker yesterday.” said Gwendolyn with a light smile.

“Which is why you are our Inquisitor. It is not everyone who can face what we did and emerge optimistic,” said Josephine.

“It’s more hope than optimism. In this particular case, hope that no one notices that I’ve gotten lost in my own castle three times today alone,” said Gwendolyn.

“And a sense of humor,” said Josephine, shaking her head.

“Josephine, if there’s anything in can do to help make things easier for you, or if you ever need to talk, just let me know,” said Gwendolyn.

Something occurred to the Ambassador in that moment and she began hastily assembling a list of things for the Inquisitor. “Actually, there is something. Skyhold is hardly a hub for trade, Inquisitor, and given its location in the middle of the Frostbacks, it is unlikely to become one on its own. However, we need coin, and with the numbers that continue to flock here, it would be beneficial for tradesmen to set up here as well. If you would go to Val Royeaux and speak with a number of these merchants, you may be able to convince them to come. Rumors of your heroism at Haven have already spread, so hopefully, it shall take very little to convince them to aid us. And while you are there, if you could perhaps look into drapery and upholstery that you think might complement the different rooms here, I would appreciate it.”

“Another trip to Val Royeaux, is it? I’ll have to pick up more little cakes,” said Gwendolyn.

Josephine’s eyes glittered.

“Any requests?” asked Gwendolyn.

“Surprise me,” said Josephine.

\--- 

Obviously, the Inquisitor couldn’t just drop everything to head off to Val Royeaux to pick out drapes, so she wouldn’t be leaving for a few days until things settled down somewhat in Skyhold. There were more than a few matters to attend to, after all. Beyond structural fixes, the need to establish an army, save the Empress, and stop this army of demons, there were other immediate concerns. An archanist had been sent for to enchant armor and weaponry for the Inquisition, as well as to attend to additional arcane matters. Then specialists were called for to further train the Inquisitor, so that she could further specialize her magic and better lead the Inquisition and gain prominence. Apparently being an ice mage was insufficient, or so it had been decided.

Oddly, the specialists arrived before the archanist did. A mortalatasi, a rift mage, and a knight-enchanter all showed up with offers for the Inquisitor. Despite her protests that she didn’t _really _need to specialize like this when she was already an ice mage and that it might honestly cause more problems than it was worth, she met with them anyway, much to the chagrin of many in the Inquisition who weren’t too fond of magic.

The mortalatasi was immediately nixed, seeing as Gwendolyn had absolutely no desire to become a necromancer. And while the rift mage promised to provide her with further insight into the Fade and into what her mark might be capable of, she patently refused to further tie herself to the Fade like that. And so, she settled on knight-enchanter, and not just because Commander Helene, the knight-enchanter specialist, all but ordered Gwendolyn to specialize in that.

A knight-enchanter could lead her people from the front lines. A knight-enchanter could cast all but impenetrable barriers over others to better protect. Knight-enchanter, in Gwendolyn’s mind, was the least inflammatory and most useful of the specializations. It would be honorable to be a knight-enchanter. It would allow her to be more than just the mage at the back of the fight who offered support magic. She felt that she could protect people and be more useful this way, and maybe she was right.

Needless to say, it came as something of a relief to most of those at Skyhold that she had settled upon this particular specialty. It was the least worrying one, after all, considering that even the Chantry kept a few knight-enchanters on hand. For some, it was even encouraging. If she had chosen this specialty, then it meant that she was taking her new role of Inquisitor seriously. It meant that she fully intended to lead the Inquisition with grace and honor from the front lines in every way she knew how.

And it also meant that she needed to learn how to hold a sword properly.

“Spirit _blade_, Commander. It is a spirit blade, not a sword,” said Gwendolyn haughtily.

Cullen looked at her flatly. “Inquisitor, whether it is made of magic or steel, that weapon you wield is a sword and you must actually know how to use it if you wish to be a knight-enchanter.”

Gwendolyn crossed her arms and frowned at him. She’d met him on the training grounds like he’d asked, but she had expected some sort of security briefing while he multitasked. She had not anticipated that _she _would be the one training today. But now here they both were, and Cullen fully intended to _personally _train her. He had even come prepared in his customary training garb—meaning that he had dispelled with the mantle and armor and wore instead a light shirt. It was understandable enough, but Gwendolyn found it entirely too distracting.

“I have done perfectly fine up until now,” said Gwendolyn.

“So you say, and if your skill is _truly_ at the level it should be, then you should have no problem demonstrating your abilities,” said Cullen as he handed her a practice sword.

Gwendolyn held the weapon awkwardly. “Mages don’t typically have a need for actual weapons like this. We generally leave that to you brutish, muscly military-types.”

And without all that armor, she could tell that Cullen was most _certainly _a _muscly _military-type.

“You wanted to be a knight-enchanter, Inquisitor. And beyond that, what is your plan if you ran out of mana during battle, hmm? To insult your enemy to death?” asked Cullen expectantly.

“Commander, if I was capable of that, I would have required a new general by now,” said Gwendolyn.

Cullen smirked slightly, which did exactly nothing to help Gwendolyn’s concentration. “Precisely my point, now show me how you would grip that sword.”

Incorrectly, was how she was holding the sword. To the surprise of no one, the Inquisitor knew absolutely nothing about swordplay, other than how to dodge an incoming attack. But Cullen was well practiced at training recruits and an excellent teacher, so not even the Inquisitor with her smart comments and charming smile could prove much of a challenge. Although, he did perhaps touch her elbow or adjust her grip just _slightly _more often than he would have with a normal recruit. But considering that she also ended up flat on her back in the dirt and disarmed far more than the typical recruit, perhaps it evened out somewhat.

After over an hour of intense drilling, Gwendolyn laid on her back on the training ground, sword several feet away, still breathing heavily.

Cullen peered down at her, looking insufferably smug. “Shall we call it a day, Inquisitor?”

“As I doubt I’ll be able to move tomorrow, Commander, that may be a good idea,” groaned Gwendolyn, not even attempting to move.

“Do you need help getting up?” he asked.

Gwendolyn’s response was to raise her right hand and let him pull her to her feet.

\---

A week later, some of the major structural issues had been fixed at Skyhold. The roof in the great hall had been repaired, the bridge connecting the main castle to the command tower had been fixed, and, perhaps most importantly, the tavern had been cleared out and opened. Needless to say, the opening of the Herald’s Rest lifted spirits considerably, as a steady supply of alcohol often does. Sera, Bull, Krem, and Cole could always be found there, in their usual haunts, combining the Inner Circle with the rest of the Inquisition.

But rather than celebrating the tavern opening as many of us were, Gwendolyn had been politely asked to meet the Commander in his new office. There were innumerable reasons why he might wish to speak to her, so she hadn’t questioned it. After all, Leliana and Josephine called her to their respective posts all the time, so this shouldn’t have been anything different.

But when Gwendolyn walked into the office, she found her commander standing over his desk with a templar lyrium philter box in front of him on the massive wooden desk.

As Gwendolyn crossed the room to approach the desk, he glanced up at her. “As leader of the Inquisition, you…” Cullen sighed heavily and stood up, resting his hands on the hilt of his sword. “There’s something I must tell you.”

“Maker, this sounds ominous. Whatever it is, I’m willing to listen,” said Gwendolyn.

“Right. Thank you,” said Cullen. He took a breath before continuing, looking back down at the box in front of him. “Lyrium grants templars our abilities, but it controls us as well. Those cut off suffer—some go mad, others die. We have secured a reliable source of lyrium for the templars here. But I…no longer take it.”

Gwendolyn was stunned. “You stopped?”

“When I joined the Inquisition. It’s been months now,” said Cullen.

Panic began to set in for Gwendolyn, though she hid it fairly well. “Cullen, if this can kill you…”

“It hasn’t yet. After what happened in Kirkwall, I couldn’t…I will not be bound to the Order—or that life—any longer. Whatever the suffering, I accept it. But I would not put the Inquisition at risk. I’ve asked Cassandra to…watch me. If my ability to lead is compromised, I will be relieved from duty,” said Cullen, as he stood to his full height and once more rested his hands on his sword.

“Are you in pain?” asked Gwendolyn, her mind already going through a checklist of lyrium withdrawal symptoms and consequences.

“I can endure it,” said Cullen.

Maker, so he _was _in pain this whole time. And yet he’d never complained or let on. “Thank you for telling me. I respect what you’re doing,” said Gwendolyn.

“Thank you, Inquisitor. The Inquisition’s army must always take priority. Should anything happen…I will defer to Cassandra’s judgment,” said Cullen.

Gwendolyn nodded. “Thank you for telling me…I…I should let you get back to work.”

“Of course, Inquisitor,” said Cullen.

Gwendolyn left through the bridge door across from his desk and immediately headed upstairs to the library and found Dorian.

The Tevinter didn’t even look up from his book. “Not getting drunk in the tavern with the rest of our compatriots? Or do you need to be sober for something later?”

Gwendolyn put her hands on his reading table, suddenly deadly serious. “Dorian, stop whatever you’re doing. I have a research project for us.”

Dorian closed his book and looked at her with a broad smile. “My, my, whatever can I be? I must admit I am quite curious. Do tell.”

“You and I are going to find a cure for lyrium addiction,” said Gwendolyn firmly.

“Are we now? Well, I suppose doing the impossible _is _rather your specialty,” said Dorian.

Gwendolyn didn’t laugh. “I’m serious, Dorian. We’re doing this.”

“May I ask _why_?” said Dorian.

Gwendolyn glared at him.

“Or perhaps _who _would be the more accurate question. Although, I suppose as I say it, I answer the question myself. So, he quit the stuff, did he? He _is _aware that he could die, yes?” said Dorian.

“Acutely. Which is why you and I are going to make sure that doesn’t happen,” said Gwendolyn.

“Of course we are. Shall we begin, then? I doubt this will be a short project,” said Dorian.

\---

The next day, Gwendolyn breezed into the Commander’s office unannounced and uninvited and plopped a basket down on his desk.

The Commander looked up from his work and raised an eyebrow. “Inquisitor, what—?”

“Though clearly telling you to avoid sources of stress is like telling a fish to avoid water, there are other steps you can take to make the process go smoother. Ample sleep is the most helpful, but I’m guessing that never happens given that lyrium withdrawal also leads to nightmares, so there’s a sleeping draught in there that should hopefully mitigate at least some of the worst effects in that regard. The next thing is to maintain a balanced, full diet, but I also know that you have a tendency to skip meals, so I’ve brought you snacks. To counteract headaches and minor aches and pains, there’s also an elfroot and embrium painkiller in there, but it won’t do much about the worst of it. It would also help you to get out of this office every once in a while and get some fresh air. Maybe walk the battlements. I’m looking into the rest, but it’s a start,” said Gwendolyn.

“Inquisitor, you really don’t have to do this,” said Cullen lightly.

“I need my general at his best, and I intend to do everything in my power to ensure that you stay that way,” said Gwendolyn.

“You have far too much to worry about as Inquisitor without concerning yourself with this. I’ve been handling it so far,” said Cullen.

“You could _let _me worry, you know,” said Gwendolyn. Cullen made to say something but was cut off as she continued speaking. “I respect what you’re doing, Cullen. It’s incredibly brave of you and I cannot imagine how strong you must have to be in order to go through all of this on top of leading the army. The pain you must be in, and yet you never complain…Maker, I can’t even imagine. Truly, Cullen, if you need anything, all you have to do is ask.”

Cullen wasn’t entirely sure what to say to that, but that was all right, because Gwendolyn didn’t wait for a reply, just apologized for interrupting his work and then left his office as suddenly as she’d arrived.

The Commander could not recall quite the last time that someone—anyone really—had cared this much about his health or state of being. He’d always handled things on his own, never asking for or wanting assistance. He’d beaten his lyrium addiction to his point on his own—through his own strength of will—without outside help. And yet, here was this girl offering to help him while expecting nothing in return. It was a strange feeling, being cared for like this. Cullen wasn’t quite sure what to make of it. All he knew was that she’d left the room still faintly smelling of vanilla and sandalwood and it was…distracting.

\--- 

The trip to Val Royeaux was an interesting one. Vivienne had all but taken over the operation, announcing that she was taking the Inquisitor to meet with her personal tailor so that she might actually look the part of Inquisitor. Then Cassandra announced that she would accompany them so as to keep the trip from becoming frivolous. And then I decided to come to help with the merchants, seeing as I have experience with that sort of thing. One might have thought that Dorian would come along too, especially if Gwendolyn’s wardrobe was involved, but he apparently had research to do, though he failed to explain what research it was.

This visit was certainly more productive than the previous one. First, there was our actual purpose. We ran right down the list of merchants Ruffles had given us, schmoozing our way into alliances and into gaining actual commerce in Skyhold. That much should have been enough for even the most productive trip to the capital of Orlais, but not for us. We just had to be overachievers. Because once the merchants were secured, we had to go interior decorating shopping, with Vivienne arguing for tasteful excess and Cassandra scoffing at all of it. And as if _that _wasn’t enough, the Iron Lady then dragged Gwendolyn off to have an entire wardrobe fitted for her, because apparently our Inquisitor couldn’t be seen meeting dignitaries in casualwear. From what I understand, there was a bit of a difference in taste regarding the clothes, with Vivienne wanting to model the Inquisitor after herself, and Gwendolyn finding it all far too revealing and far too excessive.

By the time we left the capital, the only one in high spirits was Vivienne, with the three of us beyond exhausted and sick of the excessiveness of it all. We did get tiny cakes and trade deals out of it, though, so that was good at least.

\---

We’d only just returned to Skyhold and already it became apparent that some members of the Inquisition were seeking some R&R while the Inquisitor and Cassandra were away. In the newly renovated gardens, the odd pairing of Dorian and Cullen were playing chess, and it was proving to be quite the match. One was clever and spent most of his free time studying and the other was a brilliant military tactician and strategist—it was turning out to be quite the battle.

“I must admit, I expected you to accompany the Inquisitor to Val Royeaux,” said Cullen.

“Ah, yes, I understand Vivienne was positively reveling in the chance to sink her claws into dearest Gwendolyn’s wardrobe. But alas, I have been detained doing research, on strict orders of the Lady Inquisitor herself,” said Dorian as he moved his piece.

“Research? Regarding Corypheus?” said Cullen.

“Hmm, although I have been looking into that, that is not the project. No, our Inquisitor seems to have become rather concerned with finding a cure for lyrium addiction and withdrawal,” said Dorian.

Cullen’s hand froze on the piece he was about to move, and he looked up at Dorian.

“I can’t _imagine_ that her sudden fascination with the subject has _anything _to do with that slight tremor in your hand, the obvious lack of sleep you seem to be having, or the fact that you’ve only just recently quit the Templar Order,” said Dorian.

“There is truly no need for either of you to concern yourselves,” said Cullen.

“Ah, but that’s just who she is, isn’t she? We’re speaking of a woman who would undoubtedly go to the Fade and back to help those she cares for or die trying. And though this ought not need explaining, you, Commander, number among those lucky few,” said Dorian.

“She has far more than enough to worry about without shouldering my burden as well,” frowned Cullen.

“A noble sentiment, Commander. One that she undoubtedly intends to ignore,” said Dorian.

Cullen sighed and shook his head.

They continued to play for some time, with Dorian making smart remarks about how he was clearly going to be the victor of this particular match.

“Gloat all you like; I have this one,” said Cullen.

“Are you _sassing _me, Commander? I didn’t know you had it in you,” said Dorian.

“Why do I even—” began Cullen. Then he glanced up, saw Gwendolyn walking towards them, and then nearly knocked over his chair trying to stand up. “Inquisitor.”

“Leaving, are you? Does this mean I win?” said Dorian with a shit-eating grin.

Cullen sat back down and leveled a glare at Dorian.

“Are you two playing nice?’ asked Gwendolyn.

“I’m _always _nice,” said Dorian, then he turned his attention to Cullen. “You need to come to terms with my inevitable victory. You’ll feel much better.”

Dorian moved his piece.

Cullen moved his final piece, winning the game. “Really? Because I just won. And I feel fine.”

“Don’t get smug. There’ll be no living with you,” said Dorian as he got up from his chair and headed back into the castle.

Cullen looked up at Gwendolyn. “I should return to my duties as well…unless you would care for a game?”

“Prepare the board, Commander,” said Gwendolyn as she took Dorian’s empty seat.

Cullen set up the pieces as he spoke. “As a child, I played this with my sister. She would get this stuck-up grin whenever she won—which was _all _the time. My brother and I practiced together for weeks. The look on her face the day I finally won…Between serving the templars and the Inquisition, I haven’t seen them in years. I wonder if she still plays.”

“You have siblings?” Gwendolyn asked.

“Two sisters and a brother,” said Cullen.

Gwendolyn moved her first piece. “Where are they now?”

“They moved to South Reach after the Blight. I do not write them as often as I should. Ah. It’s my turn,” said Cullen.

“All right, let’s see what you’ve got,” said Gwendolyn.

It was a grueling competition, even more vicious than the previous match between the Commander and Dorian. Because while Dorian cheated, Gwendolyn played fair and to her strengths, namely that she had once read an entire book on chess strategies when she was bored in the Circle tower. Then again, that had been some years ago, and perhaps her memory wasn’t quite as good as she thought. Cullen was always several moves ahead of her, though never showed it. He was, after all, _exceedingly_ good at this game. Gwendolyn was struggling to combat his moves, and Cullen was enjoying watching her struggle, if only for the patently adorable little frown she wore.

“This may be the longest we’ve gone without discussing the Inquisition—or related matters,” said Cullen. “To be honest, I appreciate the distraction.”

Gwendolyn was staring at the chessboard, so focused on her next move than she simply said what came to mind rather than thinking it through. “We should spend more time together, or at least do this more often.”

Cullen looked up at her. “I would…like that.”

Gwendolyn could feel her face growing warm as she realized what she’d just said, but now it was too late to turn back. The cat was out of the bag, and well…wait, he hadn’t dismissed the idea immediately? Did that mean….?

“Me too,” said Gwendolyn.

“You said that,” said Cullen quietly.

This wasn’t a dream. This wasn’t a nightmare where the Inquisitor would say something like that and then immediately turn out to be a desire demon in disguise. No, this was very much real. And the very real, not even remotely hallucinated woman in front of him had really just said that. The woman whose smile could brighten any room, who was frustrating, endearing, and wonderful beyond measure, and who was going out of her way to take care of him. The woman with the weight of the world on her shoulders, who led the Inquisition, and who would ultimately be responsible for defeating Corypheus. That woman.

Gwendolyn looked up at him.

Cullen cleared his throat and looked down at the chessboard. “We should…finish our game. Right. My turn?”

Gwendolyn was fairly decent at this game, but not nearly as well practiced as Cullen. By all rights, the Commander should have won the game, hands down, in far fewer moves. But just as male mabari pups let the females win when play-fighting, the Commander let Gwendolyn win this game of chess.

Cullen knocked over his king, his smile not even remotely defeated. “I believe this one is yours. Well played. We shall have to try again sometime.”

“Indeed, Commander, I believe we shall,” said Gwendolyn with a small smile.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the garden, hidden from view…

“I’m telling you, that is a budding romance,” I said.

“And I am telling you that he will not be the first to make a move,” said Dorian.

“Still think the Lady Inquisitor could do better than the Commander with the stick up his arse,” said Sera.

“He nearly knocked his chair over just standing to greet her. It _will _happen, assuming either of them stops denying it to themselves long enough to confess it to the other,” said Dorian.

“She’ll have to cave before him. He won’t say anything until then. Too honorable to step out of line or be too forward,” I said.

“Then we must convince her to make the first move, lest we all be cursed to _this _until Corypheus is defeated and beyond,” said Dorian.

Sera groaned.

“Exactly,” said Dorian.

“Innit weird, though? Don’t templars and mages not get on like that?” said Sera.

“He is not a templar any longer, nor she a Circle mage, and thus it is no longer forbidden,” said Dorian.

“It’s the laws of attraction, Buttercup; opposites attract. Now we just need to convince Princess over there to make her move,” I said.

Sera snorted. “Good luck with _that_.”


	13. Trouble on the Coast

As the Inquisition began to establish itself properly in Skyhold, reports and requests for aid began pouring in from Orlais and Ferelden. The war table—which now had a proper room of its own off of Josephine’s office off the great hall—was seeing a great deal of action from the four leaders of the Inquisition. It was a bit of an upgrade from what had been the case in Haven, as was the scale of the operations needed to be undertaken. Words of what had happened in Haven were spreading, and now it seemed that people wanted the help of the Inquisitor for everything from sorting through Chantry bickering and squabbles between Orlesian noble families to seeking out and destroying Venatori in the far western reaches of Orlais and removing a Venatori agent from the Court of King Marcus of Nevarra.

There was quite a bit to do, but for the moment, there were two pressing issues that it was decided needed to be tended to before the others. The first was in regards to a letter they’d received from King Alistair of Ferelden: 

_Inquisitor, _

_First things first: an apology. I offered the rebel mages safe harbor in Ferelden only to have them drive my uncle out of his town, so I'll admit I wasn't in the best of moods when I first met you. I just wanted everyone out of Redcliffe, and didn't care who was responsible for what. Now I wish I'd done otherwise. Isn't that always the way? These cultists...Venatori, I think they're called? We have them in the royal palace, or so I'm told. Like rats—but with magic and nasty sneers. I don't know what they're up to, but I need to find them and drive them out. Since the Inquisition knows all about them, I'm hoping you'll help. Something something grateful something. _

_Wait... did you just write that? You scribes do this on purpose, don't you? _

_King Alistair Theirin_

Gwendolyn reread the letter and then looked up at Leliana. “So, there are Venatori at the Royal Palace in Denerim. And King Alistair doesn’t _actually _hate us. Is he always this articulate in his writing or did we just catch him at an off day?”

Leliana smiled lightly. “No, I’m afraid that is truly just how he is. If you think this is bad, you should have seen him try to woo Flora.”

“It is good that at least Ferelden trusts us enough to take care of this,” said Josephine.

“You mean that the king trusts Leliana, you mean,” said Gwendolyn. “I doubt I made the best impression.”

“We should send our forces to aid in this manhunt. Not only should we help, but everyone will see us doing it,” said Cullen.

“Make the people of Denerim believe we’re rescuing their beloved war hero and king and are a force for peace and order. Sounds reasonable,” said Gwendolyn.

“If I may, Inquisitor, I have just the agent in mind for this. Allow me to send her to Denerim to quietly hunt down the Venatori spies. If we march into the city with a battalion of soldiers, it would only alert the Venatori to our presence and send them deeper underground,” said Leliana.

“You want to send in one spy in place of soldiers?” frowned Cullen.

“One spy familiar with the palace and its workings can do far more than a few soldiers who know nothing of the place,” said Leliana.

“If it turns to violence, our soldiers are better suited to handle the situation,” said Cullen.

“Though I understand our soldiers to be well trained, Commander, the Fereldan Royal Guard is exceedingly good at their job. If there is to be violence, they will step in and assist. Even King Alistair is a skilled warrior if the need arises,” said Leliana.

Cullen’s frown deepened. “I would feel better if our men were present.”

“What is your feeling on the matter, Inquisitor?” asked Josephine.

Gwendolyn frowned at the letter that sat on the war table in front of her, not really seeing it as she puzzled through the best course of action. “Leliana, is it fair to assume that you’re extremely familiar with both the Royal Palace and the players involved?”

“Quite, Inquisitor,” said Leliana.

Gwendolyn nodded slowly as she stared at the War Table. “There are reports of darkspawn and Red Templars on the Storm Coast. If we send Blackwall and some of our soldiers up there to handle the situation, then everyone on the coast will see not only us fighting the Red Templars, but show off our Grey Warden ally in a country that holds Grey Wardens in high esteem. The queen is from Highever, yes? Then helping the coastlands will work in our favor with the Fereldan people. So, Leliana, send your agent in to Denerim to smoke out the Venatori and let King Alistair see that we’re not as meddlesome as I came across in Redcliffe. Cullen, send your men to the coastlands to see to the Red Templars and darkspawn threat and let them be seen doing it.”

“An excellent plan, Inquisitor, but if I may add a suggestion?” said Josephine.

Gwendolyn looked at her expectantly.

“There are some who feel that perhaps we invented your survival at Haven. If you were to also go to the Storm Coast, then everyone could also see _you_ cleaning out darkspawn and Red Templars,” said Josephine.

“If she catches the blight,” began Cullen.

“Give me _some _credit, Commander. I survived an encounter with Corypheus and his Archdemon…dragon…thing, so I think I can handle a few darkspawn,” said Gwendolyn.

“You need not worry, Commander. Our Inquisitor can handle her own in the field. Provided, naturally, that there are no bears involved,” said Leliana.

“Does _everyone _know about that?” gaped Gwendolyn.

Leliana smiled at her.

“Some find it humanizes our otherwise fearless Inquisitor,” said Josephine.

“Wonderful. Let’s just hope Corypheus doesn’t catch wind of that, lest we have to contend with red lyrium infected bears. Ugh, the stuff of nightmares. Well, at any rate, this mess isn’t going to wait for us to debate the practical implications of it. I’ll leave tomorrow for the Storm Coast and be back once the situation is cleared up,” said Gwendolyn.

“As you say, Inquisitor,” said Cullen, though he frowned slightly.

“I’m taking Cassandra with me, you realize. And Dorian, Varric, and Blackwall,” said Gwendolyn.

“Good. And do at least attempt not to storm the Red Templar fortress head on,” said Cullen.

“I’m not expecting there to be a back door,” said Gwendolyn.

“History will not remember your failed frontal assault. Please at least attempt to flank your enemy,” said Cullen.

Gwendolyn put her hands on her hips and frowned at him. “Commander, I do at least _attempt _to strategize while in the field. And as I am certain Cassandra is more than capable of telling me to my face that I’m blatantly wrong in certain regards, there is really nothing to worry about.”

Cullen frowned, but didn’t say anything.

“Well, since this business on the Storm Coast was the only other business to attend to today, I will allow you all to return to your work,” said Gwendolyn.

\---

We were camped in the bannorn on our way to the Storm Coast, and everyone was in surprisingly good spirits. Perhaps we were all still riding the high of Gwendolyn’s appointment as Inquisitor or just glad to be taking on some Red Templars in the spirit of good old-fashioned revenge. Either way, camp seemed much less bleak than it could have been. In fact, it was promising to be rather amusing.

“Cassandra, can I ask a favor?” asked Gwendolyn.

“Yes? What is it you require, Inquisitor?” asked Cassandra curiously.

Gwendolyn shifted on her feet and seemed to struggle to ask this. “It has come to my attention that I lack certain…skills required to properly wield my spirit blade. As you’re an expert swordsman, I was hoping you might help me in this endeavor.”

“Was the Commander not tutoring you in such things?” asked Cassandra.

“I’m not _asking _him and his stupid smug expression when I do something wrong, I’m asking you,” said Gwendolyn.

“Very well, though I am not the teacher that he is reputed to be,” said Cassandra as she retrieved two swords and handed one to the Inquisitor.

“This way the recruits don’t need to see me fail utterly to hold a sword,” said Gwendolyn as she attempted to grip the weapon.

“We all must begin somewhere, Inquisitor,” said Cassandra.

After a few rounds where Gwendolyn was soundly defeated, the rest of us took up our mandatory positions as her friends. Namely, we began heckling.

“It is a rather good thing that you use magic, dearest Gwendolyn, else I fear you would certainly not last a day in the field,” said Dorian.

“Thank you for the vote of confidence,” said Gwendolyn.

“Pay attention to the fight in front of you,” said Cassandra.

“You didn’t seem distracted when you were sparring with Curly,” I said.

“No one was trying to talk to me,” snapped Gwendolyn as she attempted to block a swing from Cassandra.

“Or maybe he just has a way of capturing your undivided attention better than most,” I said.

“How utterly ridiculous,” said Gwendolyn as she attempted to strike at Cassandra, only to be disarmed.

“You left yourself open. Try again,” said Cassandra.

“The Commander is a skilled warrior and excellent teacher. I’ve seen him training the recruits out on the grounds. Good man. Honorable,” said Blackwall.

Gwendolyn rolled her eyes and grumbled something before returning her attention to Cassandra and their sparring. 

\--- 

The Storm Coast was a bit of a mess. The good news was that the Blades of Hessarian were still loyal to Gwendolyn and that they knew precisely what was going on, had figured out where the darkspawn were coming from, and had mapped out where the Red Templars were hiding out. So even though it was pouring rain and the place was overrun with darkspawn and Red Templars, at least we knew where the darkness was.

One would have thought that the darkspawn would have been the easy part, what with us having a Grey Warden with us. But his darkspawn senses only told us that they were in the area, but not where. And since that wasn’t exactly helpful, we had to resort to other means. The other means, naturally, being a guess and check method of all the caves and tunnels in the area that the Blades of Hessarian pointed us to.

Those of us who hadn’t been in the Deep Roads or weren’t a Grey Warden had never actually _seen _darkspawn before, and it showed. Cassandra, Dorian, and Gwendolyn all looked a little grim after we’d closed off our first darkspawn tunnel. There had been hurlocks and a hurlock alpha, and everyone looked a little ashen after that. There were four more tunnels to seal and we all just wanted to get it over with.

We trekked all over the Storm Coast fighting darkspawn and sealing up tunnels to the Deep Roads. And by the end of it, we were tired. How these Wardens did this during the Blight, I will never know, and how Wardens go about fighting darkspawn all the time, I don’t understand. All I know is that we fought a _lot _of darkspawn, but at least we also sealed the tunnels.

By the time we’d finished off the darkspawn, it was time to settle in and camp down for the night. There was a lot of be done in terms of preparation for storming the Red Templar encampment and holdout, but for now at least we could rest and recover from a day of fighting darkspawn. At least now we could relax a bit, knowing that darkspawn weren’t going to be killing anyone here anytime soon.

After dinner, rather than letting one of the soldiers do it, Gwendolyn volunteered to get the firewood. No one objected, but Dorian went with her under the pretext of safety in numbers. Once they were out of earshot, however, the speculation began.

“I wonder what that’s all about,” said Blackwall.

“Probably about the Commander,” I said.

“The Commander? What does Cullen have to do with either of them?” asked Blackwall.

Cassandra frowned at me. “My thoughts exactly.”

“Oh, come now, Seeker. Don’t tell me that you haven’t seen it,” I said.

“Seen what, Varric? That it only took Haven being destroyed for them to see eye to eye?” she said.

“The tension. The unmistakable draw between them,” I said.

“No,” said Cassandra flatly.

Blackwall stroked his beard. “That what you lot have been betting on?”

“Betting? I should have known you would resort to such wretched means, dwarf,” said Cassandra in disgust.

“Shall I put you down for will they or won’t they? And if you chose will they, we’re now betting on timing as well,” I said as I pulled out my ledger.

Blackwall considered this. “I’ll think on it.”

“This is utterly ridiculous. They barely tolerate one another and this gambling of yours is unprofessional,” said Cassandra. She secretly lived for this drama, she just refused to let it show.

“Seeker, the only ones who don’t realize that Curly is in love with Her Inquisitorialness are Curly and Her Inquisitorialness. Give them time to realize, and trust me, it’ll happen,” I said.

Cassandra rolled her eyes and made a disgusted noise. She didn’t believe a word of it.

Meanwhile, Dorian was facing a bit of opposition to his betting pool.

“I said no, Dorian,” snapped Gwendolyn as she collected tree branches.

“You admit that you like him, so why in the world not?” said Dorian.

“Why? I hope you’re kidding, Dorian. He has more than enough to deal with right now without adding my nonsense to the mix. Not only that, but there is absolutely no evidence to suggest that he feels even remotely similar, even if I admitted that I felt anything, which I don’t. I won’t make things more awkward than they already are,” said Gwendolyn.

“He clearly feels the same, Gwendolyn, so you must make the first move,” said Dorian.

“Dorian, he’s going through _lyrium_ withdrawal right now. Maker, the pain he must be in alone. Between that and being the Commander of the Inquisition? The last thing he needs is the person who’s supposed to be his boss harassing him like that. Not to mention that I’m a mage on top of everything,” said Gwendolyn.

“What makes you think he would find the attention unwelcome?” asked Dorian.

She shot him a withering look. “Dorian, he already can barely tolerate me most of the time. Added to that that I am a mage from a noble family, and I practically hit every criterion on the list of things he hates. Best case scenario, he tolerates me or considers me an acquaintance. But I’m not going to be more than that to him. I can be his friend, but I very much doubt that he would want more than that. I already know that, so if you could _please _stop bothering me about it, I would appreciate it.”

“My dear, I am really quite sure that you know nothing about what he wants,” said Dorian.

“Then at least as my friend, please stop bothering me about it,” said Gwendolyn.

Dorian raised an eyebrow.

Gwendolyn dragged her hands over her face. “Dorian, I have the entire Inquisition to worry about, Venatori, Red Templars, Corypheus, not to mention making sure that all of my friends are okay. I’m reaching critical capacity with the amount of stress I can put on my plate, okay? I don’t need any more.”

Dorian nodded, but clearly wasn’t too happy with how this conversation had gone.

They returned to camp not long afterward, and it was clear that Dorian had lost whatever argument they’d had.

\---

It was still early morning when we set out for the Red Templar stronghold. It was located deep within an old dwarven ruin within a cave system along the Storm Coast and they’d been using smugglers tunnels to move between the ruins. The place wasn’t quite _swarming _with Red Templars, but it was certainly infested with them. There were _three _behemoths there. It was actually lucky that we had the five of us, a number of soldiers, and the Blades of Hessarian to fight all of them. But we didn’t lose a single man going in there. Actually, there was a fair amount of planning and strategizing that went into our storming the Red Templar stronghold, and it spoke to Gwendolyn’s leadership that no one was lost during the whole debacle.

Actually, the whole operation went surprisingly smooth until we left the cave and ran into a number of bears, much to the Inquisitor’s displeasure. But despite the bears, our mission was accomplished. The darkspawn were gone. The Red Templars were cleared out. And now everyone on the Storm Coast knew that the Inquisition was here to help. Stated mission accomplished, it was time to return to Skyhold.

\--- 

The reports that the Commander received upon our departure from the Storm Coast were what he probably should have expected. From Blackwall, he got a concise military report of combat. From Dorian, he got a lengthy complaint about Ferelden weather and how the ocean makes him seasick. From me, well, he got fifteen pages describing everything in detail. But it was once he got to Cassandra’s that things got a bit weird. The majority of her report was as expected, but there was an addendum at the bottom that he hadn’t expected.

…_You will perhaps be pleased to know that the Inquisitor has taken to her training with a surprising degree to enthusiasm. Despite Varric and Dorian nagging her, she even manages to be taking her training seriously. Although, I must admit, her swordsmanship has much to be desired, even as her spirit blade work is progressing beyond adequate. _

_ I understand that you informed the Inquisitor of your condition and that she has expressed concern over it. Though I am certain that it is all this is and that they are merely misconstruing the situation, you should know that Dorian and Varric have been pests, nagging after the Inquisitor at every chance they get. It is petty and ridiculous, but you will undoubtedly wish to prepare yourself for such nonsense. _

Cullen could only imagine that this was something of an understatement, and that he was indeed, unlikely to hear the end of this. He was, however, pleased to hear that the Inquisitor was taking her training with the sword seriously. Still, he wasn’t exactly pleased to hear that the Inquisitor was being pestered by her companions regarding him. After all, why should she be? She had no connection to him. She didn’t even like him, after all. It was impossible. She didn’t like templars. She’d made her position abundantly clear on templars. And he definitely used to be one. But…maybe…no, that was ridiculous, she could never possibly.

The Inquisitor’s report was a muddled mix of nonsense that had the overall result of making Cullen oddly pleased that she was returning to Skyhold, even if it was clear that she still had no idea how to properly write a report.

_Commander, _

_ You will undoubtedly be pleased to know that I did not, nor did any of us, contract the blight whilst fighting darkspawn. Maker, I knew those things were supposed to be gruesome and terrible, but…sketches and stories don’t do them justice. I can’t imagine fighting a horde of them. I think I may just have a newfound respect for Grey Wardens and the Hero of Ferelden after this. Although, Blackwall was less helpful in the darkspawn tracking department than I would have thought. Aren’t Grey Wardens supposed to have a nose for those things? Or is that just a myth. Anyway, I digress. The main point is, the darkspawn are gone, the tunnels are sealed off, and no one is sick. Though Dorian may have a cold from all the rain. _

_ The Red Templars were camped out in an old dwarven ruin and smuggler tunnel system near an old pier. There were a lot of them, but there were more of us and we had our shockingly helpful mercenary friends to help us out. Are the Blades of Hessarian mercenaries? Or a secret society? I’m still not entirely sure. I feel like that’s something I should probably know. In any case, the Red Templars are not there anymore, so that’s good. _

_ We’re heading back to Skyhold now. Should be back in a few days. Not to pry, but how are you? I know it’s really none of my business really, but I worry. I’ve heard horror stories about lyrium withdrawal, and I’d really prefer that you never be numbered among them. You’ve been eating, right? I think Cole said that he was going to check on you, but you know how Cole is. He could just as easily have been describing the weather. I hope you don’t mind that I asked him. He reads all of our minds as it is and already knew what I was about to say anyway, and he’s a spirit of compassion apparently, so he seems to be under the impression that it’s his duty to help people. So, anyway, as I said, Cole should theoretically have been checking on you. I also have Dorian helping me research possible cures and treatments, although I didn’t tell him why we were doing this. Although, it’s Dorian, so I expect he already knows. Please don’t be mad. I really am just trying to help. _

\---

We arrived back at Skyhold with a reception bordering on hero worship. They all crowded around the Inquisitor, seeing to her every conceivable need, but on for her part, she had a fairly one-track mind of collecting the stack of reports Josephine had handed her and disappearing into her quarters. The reasons were clear enough. She needed to catch up on reports. She was tired from travel. She wanted to take a bath. But Cole’s frown told a different story.

“What is it, kid?” I asked.

“She’s…too bright. Like watching birds against the sun, but if I focus…” trailed off Cole.

Dorian, Solas, and I—who had been standing there with Cole in the courtyard—looked at him expectantly as he shuddered and shivered.

“Alone, so alone, always alone, because of them. The warmth that comforted and cradled has long been gone, and in its place was nothing but bitterness and anger and cold. So cold. Ice surrounded, snow crushing, wind whipping and biting. Have to find them. New place, new people, same people, better—warmer, but still alone. Too much of a burden. Always a burden. Won’t add to theirs. Won’t add to his. She is…not hers. Never hers. First them, now this, but never hers. It must be very hard. I hope I help…” trailed off Cole.

“Hmm, pleasant,” said Dorian.

“Poor kid. Sounds like she could use a friend right about now,” I said.

Solas didn’t say anything, just observed silently.

\---

The war table meeting later that afternoon was an interesting one.

“My agent has arrived in Denerim and reports that her investigation into the Venatori agents there is going well,” said Leliana.

“Good to hear,” said Gwendolyn.

“Morale has improved substantially following your victory at the Storm Coast. Fighting alongside their Inquisitor as she _flanked_ and defeated the enemy, while suffering no casualties beyond minor injuries, has made our people hopeful,” said Cullen.

“No need to be so smug, Commander, it was my plan all along to strategize as I did before you presented the idea,” said Gwendolyn, somewhat coyly.

“I shall have to take your word for it, Inquisitor, seeing as your report on the matter lacked any detail whatsoever,” said Cullen.

“This may come as a shock to you, but never before in my life have I been forced to write a military report of my actions,” said Gwendolyn.

“So I gathered,” said Cullen.

Josephine and Leliana exchanged a look of amusement behind Cullen that perfectly summarized how adorable they found the flirting. For those around them, it was becoming apparent that _something _was there between them. And most of us desperately wanted it to happen. So many of us could see it, plain as day, that it was truly beginning to feel as if the only ones who were unaware of it all were Curly and Her Inquisitorialness. The mutual pining was almost painful to watch.

The Ambassador cleared her throat. “In any case, Inquisitor, there are some rather delicate matters that formally require your attention.”

Gwendolyn looked at her and raised a pale eyebrow.

“Now that you are Inquisitor, and as rumors of your heroism and, quite frankly, appearance, begin to spread, propositions have begun to pour in from interested parties,” said Josephine.

“Interested parties,” repeated Gwendolyn, her face a mask of indifference.

“I’ve already looked through them and made a note of them. These can certainly be used to our advantage. And should you actually take a shine to any of them, we will use it to the betterment of the Inquisition,” said Leliana.

“Maker’s Breath,” said Cullen.

Gwendolyn looked at Josephine expectantly.

“The first is from Duke Moncrief of Nevarra. He has written three pages in praise of your beauty and abilities and says that if you are willing to become his duchess, he will shower you in riches and praise the likes of which you can only imagine. He then lists the abundant political and financial benefits to the Inquisition should you chose to marry him and describes the extravagance and size of his estate. The only stipulation he has is that you submit yourself to a purity test so that he may be certain that any heirs you produce will be his,” explained Josephine.

Leliana wore a look of disgust at the mention of a purity test. Cullen’s lip curled in obvious revulsion.

Gwendolyn’s face betrayed nothing as she held out her hand. “Can I see the letter please?”

Josephine held out the letter on its expensive stationary to her. Gwendolyn took it, ripped it in half, and then turned it to ash in a burst of flames. The air temperature in the room dropped several degrees. She looked at all three of her advisors, entirely serious. “I am going to say this once and only once so that you can go ahead and apply this to every single one of these requests that you receive. I did not disown my family and burn every bridge I had to the Trevelyans in Ostwick for trying to whore me off to the highest bidder in the Imperium just to have the Inquisition do the exact same thing to me. I will _never_ submit to an arranged marriage and I will _not _be sold off like livestock just so that we can gain a few political allies. Do I make myself clear?”

Josephine nodded, eyes wide at the sudden outburst.

“Now, if that matter is settled, I believe there was a report of activity in the Hinterlands? Something about mercenaries attacking people on the east road?” asked Gwendolyn, looking at Cullen.

The Commander nodded, glad to change the subject. “As the report stated, yes. They’re becoming something of a nuisance and removing them will help stabilize the region.”

“The Hinterlands aren’t far. I’ll leave in the morning, take care of these mercenaries, and bring back as much elfroot as I can carry,” said Gwendolyn.

“But you’ve only just arrived earlier,” said Leliana.

“What was it someone said to me not long ago? No rest for the wicked?” said Gwendolyn, looking over at her commander.

Cullen smirked at that and then frowned slightly. “Inquisitor, should you not potentially take more than a day to rest in between missions like this?”

“Commander, and know that I mean this with the upmost sincerity, but when it comes to matters of military importance, I will defer to expertise; however, you will forgive me for not taking advice on _rest _from a man I’m not sure has ever properly rested in his life,” said Gwendolyn.

He frowned at her.

“I’ll take different people with me, if it will let everyone relax slightly more,” said Gwendolyn.

The Commander showed precisely zero signs of ever relaxing, especially when the Inquisitor was involved. Actually, the Inquisitor was beginning to occupy entirely too many of his thoughts, particularly when she wasn’t around.

At her advisors’ looks of concern, the Inquisitor sighed in defeat. “Fine. I’ll wait three days and then go.”

“Good. That will give you time to visit the archanist. She’s just arrived,” said Leliana.

“Has she? Oh good. I’ll go after this meeting,” said Gwendolyn.

The advisors had a feeling that this was the beginning of a larger pattern. It seemed to them that the Inquisitor rarely sat still for more than ten minutes at a time, and that was something that would likely not necessarily be a good thing further down the road.

The archanist was headquartered in the undercroft—the subterranean smithy, weapon storage, and personal armory of the Inquisitor and her Inner Circle. It was deep below Skyhold and the only light came from a huge opening in the far wall—namely that there _was _no far wall and that it was just open air to the Frostbacks. Needless to say, that made armor fittings woefully uncomfortable, but we soldiered through.

Usually Harritt was the only one down there, and maybe the Inquisitor as she made sure for the umpteenth time that we were all properly outfitted. But today Harritt wasn’t alone, and the old blacksmith seemed to be adjusting to the newness of it all.

“Inquisitor,” said Harritt.

“Good afternoon, Harritt. I was told that the archanist is here?” asked Gwendolyn.

Harritt nodded towards the weapons forge in the back of the room and Gwendolyn walked over, not seeing anyone immediately. She walked over and was surprised to see a cheerful dwarven girl with fiery red hair, dimples, and a broad smile.

“Inquisitor,” said the achanist.

“Nice to meet you. You’re the new archanist…?” said Gwendolyn.

“Archanist Dagna, at your service, Inquisitor!” said the archanist cheerfully.

“A pleasure to have you here, Dagna. Forgive me for this, but what services, exactly, can an archanist provide the Inquisition?” asked Gwendolyn.

“I specialize in enchanted armor and weaponry. If you have it, I can enchant it or modify it. Make it better. Let me guess, you want fire? It’s always fire with most people. Even the Tranquil at the Circle praised my work. And now I’m here to help the Inquisition,” said Dagna cheerfully.

“Tranquil? At the Circle?” asked Gwendolyn in confusion.

“I had my training at the Ferelden Circle. I’ve been there and half a dozen other Circles since the Blight. I learned so much,” said Dagna happily.

“How does a dwarf end up at the Ferelden Circle, if you don’t mind my asking?” said Gwendolyn.

“I’m from Orzammar originally. I was smith cast, but there’s not much room for enchantment or magical study in Orzammar, so I wanted to study at the Circle, but my parents wouldn’t let me and Orzammar certainly wouldn’t hear of it. A Warden convinced the Circle to let me join,” said Dagna, eyes alight with the memory, in sort of an awed reverie.

“A Warden? Why would a Warden be in Orzammar, never mind get involved in something so politically charged as that?” asked Gwendolyn in confusion.

“Not just a Warden, _the _Warden. She’s not just a hero in Ferelden, you know. She’s a hero in Orzammar too,” gushed Dagna.

“The Hero of Ferelden helped you?” gaped Gwendolyn.

“She was so kind. She saved Orzammar when she didn’t have to and…she saved me. No one ever cares about the little people, especially not in Orzammar. No one usually even notices. But she noticed and she helped me when she didn’t have to,” said Dagna.

“I suppose she’s not a hero for nothing,” said Gwendolyn as she fiddled with her left glove clasp.

Dagna immediately grabbed Gwendolyn’s left hand. “Oooh, is that it? Is that the mark? It’s so pretty. The Breach was pretty too. Uh, in a scary, blow everything up kind of way. Can I take a sample?”

“A what?” said Gwendolyn.

“A sample. Of your hand. To study,” said Dagna.

“Uh…I actually kind of need that hand…” said Gwendolyn.

Dagna pouted. “All right. I’ll make do.”

“I can see to maybe bringing you samples from the Fade rifts when we close them, but...” began Gwendolyn.

Dagna was practically jumping up and down in excitement. “Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you.”

Gwendolyn smiled uneasily. “Yes, well, you’re very welcome. I will be certain to bring you those samples.”

With that, Gwendolyn left the undercroft and returned to her quarters to catch up on her reports and paperwork.

\---

It was only midday and already Gwendolyn was having a rough go of it. First, her breakfast had been interrupted by seven different Orlesian nobles who wanted to chat. Then, she had tried to make her rounds with her companions, only to be passive aggressively insulted by Vivienne for her fashionably pragmatic wardrobe instead of one that screamed of authority. After that, she’d headed downstairs, only to get trapped by Solas, who opted to lecture her regarding the Fade and the nature of demons and the Veil. She tried to escape, then, hoping to do anything productive and salvage the day, but her attempt at escape landed her surrounded by even more Orlesian nobles, and these ones were not even remotely subtle in their needling, bothering her with exceedingly personal questions that she in no way wanted to answer. She thought that the tavern would be a good place to escape the nobles, but ended up on the other end of the spectrum as the Chargers were having a drinking contest and Sera was busy pulling pranks and planning future ones. Seeing as that made her a special kind of exhausted and displeased, she’d left.

There was exactly one place she knew that would be entirely devoid of Orlesian nobles and drunk people, as well as be home to a sympathetic ear, so that’s where she headed, after a quick trip to the kitchens.

Gwendolyn walked into the Commander’s office, dragged a chair over to his desk, and collapsed into it, depositing her basket of food onto his desk.

“Is there something on your mind?” he asked without looking up from his report.

“You know, I thought that Fereldan and Marcher nobles were tiresome, but Orlesian nobles seem to be a special kind of exhausting,” said Gwendolyn as she dragged her hands over her face.

“I quite agree,” said Cullen in amusement.

“And as if Orlesian nobles weren’t bad enough, I have Vivienne telling me that I’m not acting or looking grand enough, Solas trying to talk me ear off about the Fade, Sera trying to convince me to pull childish pranks on people, the Chargers trying to get me to drink myself into a stupor, _more _Orlesian nobles, _and _the cook yelled at me because someone put radishes in the fireplace, and apparently Cole was responsible, so that’s now my fault too,” complained Gwendolyn. She hadn’t meant to let it all spill out like that, but she was seriously reaching her wits end.

Cullen raised an eyebrow, looking across the desk at the frustrated Inquisitor. “Is there anything I can do?”

“I figured that if there was one place in all of Skyhold that Orlesian nobility, drunkards, and pranksters were entirely unwelcome, it would be here. So, please forgive me for this, but I’m going to intrude on your hospitality for a little while, at least until the Orlesians find a different shiny new toy to occupy their time. Their attention spans aren’t that long,” said Gwendolyn.

Cullen snorted in a rather undignified manner. “You are quite forgiven, Inquisitor.”

“And since I’m intruding and you clearly have no intention of stopping your work for even a minute, I have brought lunch. Consider it a work lunch. You can regale me with details regarding these mercenaries I’m meant to track down in the Hinterlands and any other such military business I should be aware of,” said Gwendolyn as she shoved the basket at him.

“Always an ulterior motive, I see,” said Cullen.

“You have to eat at some point, Commander,” said Gwendolyn.

“Indeed,” said Cullen.

“It’s either this or I soundly defeat you in chess again,” said Gwendolyn as she distributed the food and drink between them.

“Soundly defeated?” said Cullen in amusement.

“Really, I don’t even know why I bother taking strategic advice from a man I can so _soundly _defeat in chess,” said Gwendolyn as she tossed her hair over her shoulder.

“I was not soundly defeated, Inquisitor,” said Cullen.

Gwendolyn smiled lightly at him over her goblet. “That remains to be seen, Commander.”

Cullen shook his head. “Now, about those mercenaries.”


	14. Here, There Be Dragons

The mercenaries were hiding out in a fortress to the southeast of Redcliffe beyond the crossroads. They’d been camped out in an old keep and their patrols were all the way out to the northeast, east of Redcliffe. The keep was easy enough to clear, seeing as the mercenaries seemed not to be in groups and there were six of us. Between the Inquisitor, Cassandra, Iron Bull, Dorian, Sera, and me. There were a lot of us, but it made sense in a way. If you were planning on taking out a mercenary infestation, there was a certain amount of safety in numbers.

The keep cleared out, we turned our attention to the east road, which was all but overrun with the mercenaries disguised as bandits. It was a long trek out there, but we managed to establish another camp in the process, so it was worth it. But of course, nothing ever goes so smoothly when the Inquisitor is involved.

There we were, setting up camp after a long day of mercenary fighting, when there came a blood curdling screech that echoed off the cliffs, through the valley, and down a nearby cave. We all looked up to see a massive red dragon flying over us, heading north, where it landed in the hills just beyond the camp.

“A dragon! Awesome! We’re gonna kill it, right, Boss?” said Iron Bull eagerly, his eyes alight with bloodlust.

Sera began swearing violently.

“Great. And here I thought the bears were bad. Wonderful,” said Gwendolyn.

After everyone had dosed themselves in fire resistance potions, the six of us headed down the tunnel beside our camp and headed out into the hilly clearing beyond. There we found the dragon—the Fereldan Frostback high dragon—flying about and raining fire down upon the land. Dragonlings flitted about and attacked us almost immediately, allowing their mother time to fly into the nest beyond the clearing. The dragonlings were dispatched easily enough, so we hurried through the clearing and into the high dragon’s nest.

The battle was brutal. No amount of Venatori, Red Templars, bears, or dragonlings can prepare you to face a proper high dragon in combat. It’s a novel experience, I’ll tell you that. They’re raw power, uncontrolled and untamed, and they are a true force of nature. And the Fereldan Frostback was absolutely no exception. The battle was hard won for sure, and without there being the six of us, I doubt we would have managed. But as it was, our set up was a good one. Gwendolyn and Dorian hit the dragon with all matters of ice magic and kept barriers on all of us the whole time. Sera and I peppered the dragon with arrows, Sera launched jars of bees and ice grenades at it, and I arranged traps to catch it. Cassandra and Bull worked their warrior skills on the dragon up front, slashing and hacking at its legs and keeping it in one place.

The victory was hard won, but it was a victory nonetheless, and I can’t say that we all weren’t rather proud of ourselves for the feat. After all, not many can fight a high dragon and live to tell about it, never mind kill the beast.

“That last belch of fire nearly killed us,” said Cassandra, though her eyes were alight with excitement. She came from a family of dragon hunters, after all, and she had handled herself admirably in battle.

“Big friggin’ heroes, we are. Big friggin’ heroes,” said Sera, a huge smile stretched across her face.

“We are done with this, yes? No more dragons? I for one could do with a bit of quiet relaxation after that,” said Dorian as he fixed his hair, to no avail, mind you.

“That. Was. _AWESOME!_” exclaimed Iron Bull, who was already planning the multitude of parties that would undoubtedly occur when we returned. This was, in his mind, the best day ever.

Gwendolyn, for her part, was just staring at the dragon’s corpse.

“What is it, Princess?” I asked.

She looked at me flatly. “I think I just found something I dislike more than bears.”

\--- 

Fantastic feats of heroism aside, our reception when we got back to Skyhold wasn’t quite the hero’s welcome we deserved. Oh, the Chargers were there already getting plastered, and there a fair number of other people there to receive us, but not everyone was pleased or impressed with our actions.

The Commander handed Gwendolyn down from her horse but met her smile with a cool look of displeasure and angry amber eyes. “Welcome back to Skyhold, Inquisitor. Meet me in my office at your earliest convenience.”

Gwendolyn looked a bit green as she arranged her things and handed off her horse to Horsemaster Dennett. Her commander was clearly furious with her and she wasn’t exactly chomping at the bit to find out why. But he was only going to get angrier the longer she waited to meet with him, so she headed up to his office.

The door had scarcely closed behind her when he rounded on her, and oh if half of Skyhold didn’t hear the ensuing argument.

“What in Andraste’s name were you thinking?!” he demanded.

“You mean with the dragon?” asked Gwendolyn innocently.

“Of course I mean the dragon! What were you thinking, taking on a high dragon on your own?!” exclaimed Cullen.

“I was thinking that there was a high dragon threatening our camp, Redcliffe, and the refugees at the crossroads and that it needed to be killed before it hurt anyone,” defended Gwendolyn.

“_You_ could have been killed!” said Cullen.

“What would you have had me do? Sit around and let the damn thing start killing people?” asked Gwendolyn irritably.

“Wait for reinforcements at least! You are the Inquisitor and the only one who can close Fade rifts or who stands a chance of defeating Corypheus. I—The Inquisition cannot lose you, Inquisitor, and you cannot risk your life recklessly like this,” said Cullen.

“I can’t just sit around and wait for others to risk their lives in my stead! We defeated the dragon in the end and that’s what matters,” said Gwendolyn.

“Just how many times need I tell you _not _to take unnecessary risks? You are too important to be lost. You survived this time, but all it takes is one stray arrow or one dragon’s claw timed poorly and it is all over. And we lose both our leader and our chance at defeating Corypheus,” said Cullen.

“I’m not going to spend my time in a box, only to be taken out when a Fade rift shows up. Contrary to popular belief, I am not, in fact, made of glass,” snapped Gwendolyn.

“And yet you are entirely too careless with your own life,” said Cullen.

“I am not careless. I took all the necessary precautions,” said Gwendolyn.

“A fire resistance potion does nothing against claws or teeth. And you are not even in proper armor! An enchanter’s coat provides no protection against anything practical. I have no doubt that you protect your companions and your men, but you never have a care for your own safety,” said Cullen.

“You weren’t there! You have no idea how careful I was. And I’m not traipsing around Thedas in a suit of armor, thanks,” said Gwendolyn.

“Inquisitor, this is hardly the first time you have been irresponsible like this,” said Cullen.

“_Irresponsible_?!” spluttered Gwendolyn.

“You throw yourself into battle without a second thought routinely, you nearly died at Haven, and now this?” exclaimed Cullen.

“Haven?! Are you seriously going to call me careless for _that_? I bought all of you time to escape and you’re _yelling _at me for it!” fumed Gwendolyn.

“You cannot continue this pattern of self-sacrifice!” insisted Cullen.

“I can’t just sit around and do nothing! It is my job as Inquisitor to protect people and to defeat Corypheus and that is what I’m doing. I will not allow others to get hurt in my place,” said Gwendolyn.

“Yes, and it is _my _job as Commander to see to it that everyone is kept safe, which means not throwing themselves in the path of a high dragon,” said Cullen.

“No, everyone else’s safety. And you’re doing a wonderful job of that. But my safety is my own prerogative. If I get hurt doing something stupid, then that’s my fault and mine alone,” said Gwendolyn.

“Then you must minimize the risk that is posed to yourself,” said Cullen.

“I will not stand around having this circular argument all day. Fighting dragons isn’t exactly my idea of a good time either, but I’m not going to sit around and do nothing while innocent people pay the price,” snapped Gwendolyn.

With that, she turned on her heels and stormed out of his office, slamming the door behind her.

She made it halfway across the bridge to the castle when Cullen caught up with her and touched her arm, halting her progress.

“Inquisitor, stop,” said Cullen.

She turned around with a groan. “What?! What is it?”

Cullen took a breath, much of his anger having drained away and been replaced with worry. “I am not asking that you remain in Skyhold indefinitely. All I ask is that you exercise caution. Wear actual armor. Not run blindly into battle. Not actively go dragon hunting.”

She frowned at him, searching his face for any sign of further beratement. “I don’t usually seek out trouble, you realize.”

“I know. Inquisitor, I know, but I would still ask that you give a care for your own safety when you run full tilt into danger. And for the love of Andraste, wear actual armor. That coat is no protection,” said Cullen.

“If I go and talk to Harritt and Dagna about it, will you relax somewhat?” asked Gwendolyn.

“Somewhat,” allowed Cullen. He still looked worried.

“I can handle myself, Cullen. You don’t need to concern yourself like this,” said Gwendolyn, her voice more gentle than annoyed.

Cullen’s hand hadn’t left her arm. An involuntary smile tugged at the edge of his mouth near his scar. Gwendolyn found this distracting. “What is it that you are so fond of saying, Inquisitor? That you could let me worry?”

Gwendolyn could feel her face growing warm. “I…well…that’s…ugh, fine. Using my own words against me. That’s low, Commander.”

“What can I say? I’ve been spending too much time with Leliana,” said Cullen.

Gwendolyn blinked at him for a moment as the meaning of his words hitting her. Then her eyes grew wide and a pit formed in her stomach. “Oh.”

“Maker’s Breath, not like that!” said Cullen in alarm.

Gwendolyn relaxed slightly and cleared her throat awkwardly. “Well, um, if that’s all, Commander, I should probably be going…”

Cullen released her arm. “As you say, Inquisitor.”

Gwendolyn looked at him for a few more seconds before hurrying into the castle proper. 

\---

Later that evening, after we’d all recovered from our trip from the Hinterlands and had washed up, the Chargers took total control of the tavern. Somehow, they even managed to dragoon the Inquisitor into joining in, at least for a little while.

When she arrived at the tavern—after a full day or reports and armor fittings—she found the Iron Bull sitting at the bar with tankards already prepared and a black bottle of suspicious looking alcohol next to him. Meryden—the Inquisition bard—was working her way through a lively rendition of _Sera Was Never_.

“Inquisitor! Come, have a drink!” called Bull.

Gwendolyn hesitantly took a seat at the stool beside him.

Bull poured the shots and slid one of the tankards towards her. “To killing a high dragon like warriors of legend!”

Figuring that this stuff had to be potable, Gwendolyn drank it down as requested…and then promptly began coughing.

Iron Bull laughed. “I know, right? Put some chest on your chest.”

Gwendolyn shot him a look.

“Mmm, that little gurgle right before it spat fire? And that roar. What I wouldn’t give to roar like that,” said Iron Bull. “The way the ground shook when it landed. The smell of the fires burning…Taarsidath-an halsaam. You know, Qunari hold dragons sacred? Well, as much as we hold anything sacred.” Bull poured the next round of shots. “Here, your turn.”

“That thing you just said. You shouted it during the fight, too. What does it mean?” asked Gwendolyn.

“Oh, taarsidath-an halasaam? Closest translation would be, ‘I will bring myself sexual pleasure later, while thinking about this with great respect’,” said Iron Bull.

Gwendolyn blinked at him in disbelief. “You shouted that while it was breathing fire at us.”

“I know, right?” grunted Iron Bull.

Gwendolyn raised her glass and downed the next shot, only to dissolve into a fit of coughing again. The alcohol was _definitely _hitting her now.

“Yeah! The second cup’s easier. Most of the nerves in your throat are dead after the first one,” laughed Iron Bull. “Ataashi. The glorious ones. That’s our word for them. Ataaaaaaashiiiiiiiii.”

“Why do they think of dragons that way?” she slurred.

“Well, you know how we have horns? We kind of look more…dragony…than most people. Maybe it’s that. But a few of the Ben-Hassrath have this crazy old theory. See, the tamassrans control who we mate with. They breed us for jobs like you’d breed dogs or horses. What if they mixed in some dragon a long time ago? Maybe drinking the blood. Maybe magic. I don’t know. But something in that dragon we killed…spoke to me.”

“It’s a shame we had to kill the dragon,” said Gwendolyn, and then hiccupped.

“Damn good fight. Dragons are the embodiment of raw power. But it’s all uncontrolled, savage…,” said Iron Bull as he poured the third round. “So, they need to be destroyed. Taming the wild. Order out of chaos. Have another drink.”

Gwendolyn took her third shot and coughed again, now thoroughly inebriated.

Iron Bull laughed and took his next shot. “Nice! To dragons!”

“To whatever this is, and the hangover it’s going to give me tomorrow,” said Gwendolyn, nearly falling out of her chair.

“Anaan!” exclaimed Iron Bull.

Given how utterly obliterated Gwendolyn now was after the incredibly strong stuff Iron Bull had given her, she staggered out of the tavern intent on returning to her quarters and sleeping this off. But she was _incredibly _drunk, and finding stairs was difficult, even if they really weren’t that far from the tavern.

Luckily for the Inquisitor, Cullen had been leaving the great hall after delivering some final reports to Josephine. He left through the front doors just as the Inquisitor was puzzling through the wonder that was walking up stairs.

“Inquisitor, are you quite all…are you _drunk_?” said Cullen in bewilderment as he caught her around the waist before she tripped.

“Hello, Commander. Bull gave me something that burned. Like the dragon. It burned things too. It’s a shame we had to kill the dragon,” said Gwendolyn drunkenly as she leaned heavily on the Commander.

“All right, let us get you back to your quarters before you hurt yourself,” said Cullen as he began helping her up the stairs.

Gwendolyn’s inhibitions and better judgment had disappeared somewhere between the first and second shot. “You’re so nice, Commander. You’re always so nice. And handsome. Very handsome. You have nice hair. Is it like that naturally or do you do something to it?”

Cullen almost preferred it when she was yelling at him. “Err, thank you, Inquisitor.”

Gwendolyn gasped and stopped walking, clapping her hands over her mouth. “I’m not supposed to tell you that!”

“This way, Inquisitor,” said Cullen, doing his best not to address anything that was being said.

“You’re so nice. You’re going to make some lucky girl very happy one day,” said Gwendolyn as she clung to his arm to remain upright.

Cullen wondered if this was the Maker’s way of punishing him.

“Do you have a nice girl waiting for you? You probably do. There’s probably one in Kirkwall. Did I ever tell you that the girls in my Circle all had crushes on you? They all thought you were handsome. But they were all mages like me, and you could never like a mage like that. Or a noble. So, is she in Kirkwall?”

“No, Inquisitor,” said Cullen.

“You mean there’s _no one_?! But you’re handsome and smart and nice and like dogs,” said Gwendolyn in disbelief.

“Not in Kirkwall, at any rate,” grumbled Cullen as he led her over to her door. He continued more loudly so that she could hear. “Do you think you can make it up the stairs without hurting yourself?”

When she just looked at him with unseeing eyes, he sighed deeply. He was far too much the gentleman to wish to deliver her to her room in this state, or in any state really.

Happily, the Spymaster was as much of a night owl as she was a nightingale and chose that moment to enter the great hall.

“Ah, Leliana! Do you mind?” called Cullen as he struggled to keep Gwendolyn upright.

Leliana looked up from her reports and strolled over to them, an amused smile playing upon her face. “I see someone celebrated the dragon slaying appropriately.”

“So it would seem. Would you mind delivering her to her quarters? Somehow, I doubt she and stairs will agree with one another,” said Cullen.

Leliana was enjoying this perhaps a little too much. “What’s wrong, Commander? Are you not strong enough to assist her?”

“Leliana, please,” said Cullen.

“Very well, Cullen. But you may owe me a favor in the future,” said Leliana.

Cullen’s only response was to pry Gwendolyn off of him and transfer her over to the Spymaster.

With that, Leliana began leading the Inquisitor up the stairs to Gwendolyn’s quarters. “Right this way, Inquisitor.”

“What happened to the Commander?” asked Gwendolyn groggily.

“He had to return to his work, Inquisitor,” said Leliana.

“He has nice hair,” mused Gwendolyn.

“That he does, Inquisitor. That he does,” said Leliana with a small smile.

\--- 

The war table meeting the next morning was one to remember.

“King Alistair sends his regards as well as his thanks for our assistance with the Venatori in Denerim,” said Leliana.

Gwendolyn groaned in response from where she sat with her head in her arms, trying to block out the light coming in through the stained-glass window.

“What was that, Inquisitor?” asked Cullen.

Gwendolyn’s response was muffled through her arms.

“I think the revelry from last night was perhaps a bit too exciting for our Inquisitor,” said Josephine in amusement.

“I do believe many who were in the tavern would likely agree,” said Cullen.

Gwendolyn muttered something.

“What was that?” asked Cullen loudly.

Gwendolyn winced at looked up at him through squinted, pained eyes. “You’re mean.”

“Odd, that’s not what you were saying when I was helping you back into the castle yesterday evening,” said Cullen.

Gwendolyn froze. She had no recollection of anything that happened after she left the tavern, but this was bad. Very, very bad.

Cullen continued. “No, you just told me that my chess skills were better than yours.”

Gwendolyn was outraged. “I said no such thing!”

“Do you recall otherwise?” asked Cullen expectantly.

“At any rate, we are now in the good graces of the Fereldans. Actually, killing a high dragon that threatened Redcliffe will have helped us a great deal,” said Leliana.

“There are, of course, other operations that will require our attention,” said Josephine.

Gwendolyn nodded and sat up straighter.

“Mother Giselle makes a potion that will fix your condition, Inquisitor,” said Leliana.

“Thank the Maker. Alcohol is a mistake,” said Gwendolyn in relief.

\--- 

The next day, her hangover firmly behind her, Gwendolyn was left with a predicament. She paced in the library as Dorian sat reading.

“Dorian, this is serious,” said Gwendolyn.

“So I can see. You’re going to wear a hole in the carpet at this rate,” said Dorian as he flipped a page in his book.

“I was drunk, Dorian. Maker only knows what kind of incriminating things I said to him,” worried Gwendolyn.

“Has he said anything that would indicate you said something to offend?” asked Dorian. He was only partly paying attention. As much as he enjoyed winning money, he really no longer cared about Gwendolyn or her heterosexual romantic subplot. Not when the Chargers were training out in the courtyard and Bull was instructing them, at the very least.

“Well, not exactly, but he made a snarky comment about chess, so I know that I must have done something,” said Gwendolyn.

“I thought you said it didn’t matter what he thought because he would never care,” said Dorian.

“That’s…beside the point entirely. I don’t want him to think that I’m a drunken idiot who says stupid things. I need to apologize before things become awkward,” said Gwendolyn.

“Or, and here’s an idea, you could just rip off the bandage and _tell him how you feel_,” said Dorian.

“What? No, don’t be absurd,” said Gwendolyn, as if he had just suggested that she dye her hair blue and join the Antivan circus.

Dorian gave her a look.

“I’m a mage and from a noble family. He could never possibly feel the same,” said Gwendolyn.

“How can you be so sure? He was a templar and you got over that, did you not?” said Dorian. He wanted this matter resolved quickly, especially since he had much better things to do than advise her at the moment.

“That’s different. Being a mage is more than just an occupation I once had,” said Gwendolyn.

“Dearest Gwendolyn, if you never tell this man how you feel, it is liable to eat away at you from the inside out. You do not want to spend the next few months or years pining after him and wondering what could have been. At the very least, if you tell him now, then you will at least know where you stand,” said Dorian.

“But…what if I tell him and he…and he doesn’t even want to be my friend anymore?” asked Gwendolyn.

“Then you will adapt and move past the pain,” said Dorian.

Gwendolyn grimaced.

“And we will immediately head to the tavern and get pleasantly drunk to drown your sorrows,” said Dorian.

“I think I’ve had enough of being drunk for one week,” said Gwendolyn.

“Then we will cross this bridge when and if we get to it, Gwendolyn. Now go,” said Dorian.

Gwendolyn had a feeling that Dorian was done dispensing advice on the topic, so she left the library and returned to her quarters to read through some reports. But the problem was, she couldn’t quite concentrate. She couldn’t stop thinking about what she might have said to Cullen the other night. And for that matter, if she actually bothered to ever tell him how she felt. She cared about him. She was mature enough to admit that much to herself. She liked spending time with him. She liked learning more about him. And Maker if his smile didn’t turn her insides to jelly. But if he didn’t feel the same…

Gwendolyn leapt up from her desk in frustration. This was getting ridiculous. At this rate, she would never get anything done if she didn’t do something about this. Better to make a total and complete fool of herself than to live in agony like this. Or was it?

She sat back down at her desk with a defeated sigh. She was the Inquisitor. She had a title and a responsibility to the Inquisition not to go around acting like an idiot and making a complete fool of herself. She wasn’t a kid anymore and no one was going to treat her like one. It was time to grow up, take responsibility for her actions, and not start workplace drama where there ought not to be any. It was true that she was attracted to Cullen, but she knew that she couldn’t act on it. She was his superior officer, if there were to be titles, and admitting any of this to him would only serve to harass the poor man and make him uncomfortable. She saw that now. No, it was better to keep things purely professional between them, just as her relationship with Josephine and Leliana was purely professional.

And so, Gwendolyn swallowed both her feelings and her pride and went to go ask someone for help. Cole could read minds, after all, right? So maybe he’d know what to do in this sort of scenario. 

\--- 

The tavern was crowded when Barris and Rylen managed to get Cullen out of his office with a mug of ale in his hands. The Commander was clearly unhappy about being dragged into this but had grudgingly agreed after being nearly dragged from his office. After only one drink, however, it became clear that his friends had something of an ulterior motive for dragging him out to the tavern that evening. After all, the Inner Circle weren’t the only ones with a betting pool.

“So, Commander, how has command been treating you?” asked Rylen, Cullen’s second in command.

“Well. The Inquisition is growing more and more every day. There were some conflicts between the rebel mages and our templar recruits, but I am pleased with how things have begun to settle down. Barris, I must credit you with most of that,” said Cullen.

“Thank you, though I must say that the Inquisitor should take the majority of the credit. Having a mage lead the Inquisition and serving as Herald of Andraste has done a great deal to ease tensions,” said Barris, the young leader of the non-red templars who had joined the Inquisition.

“Speaking of the Inquisitor,” said Rylen. “How is it to work with so directly with her?”

Cullen raised an eyebrow. “How do you mean?”

“Well, you are her advisor in military affairs, yes? You work so closely with her. How is it to work with her?” asked Rylen.

“She is an admirable woman,” said Cullen.

“No one was questioning _that_, Cullen. We all know her to be exceptional, but how is it to work with someone so _admirable_,” said Barris.

“Yes, exceptionally intelligent, beautiful, and brave,” said Rylen.

Cullen frowned at them. “As I said, she is an admirable woman, which is why she was made Inquisitor in the first place.”

“But what is it _like_?” asked Rylen.

“I’m afraid that I do not quite understand what you want me to say,” said Cullen.

Rylen and Barris exchanged an exasperated look.

“Donna think we don’t notice how she’s in and out of your office all the time or your chess games,” said Rylen, his Starkhaven accent particularly pronounced.

“Or those training sessions,” added Barris.

“She is the Inquisitor and I am her advisor on military affairs; of course she visits my office on occasion. And the chess matches are friendly, nothing more. As for the training sessions, she has chosen to become a knight-enchanter which means that she must train to use a sword, something which comes with something of a learning curve for her,” said Cullen.

“Cullen be serious,” said Barris.

“Saw you playing chess in the garden, she was giggling and you were smiling at her like a lovesick pup. All you do when she’s gone is mope and polish your armor. You practically sprint from your office when they signal her arrival. Come now, Cullen, you must admit there’s something to it,” said Rylen.

“I have no idea what you are talking about,” said Cullen firmly.

It was right about then that I decided to insert myself into the conversation. I’d been sitting at a table nearby and walked over to sit in the remaining chair at their table. “Curly, you might as well admit it. Right now, the only ones who don’t realize that you’re in love with Her Inquisitorialness are you and Her Inquisitorialness.”

“That’s not—I’m not—” spluttered Cullen.

“I told you, Curly; you’re not a templar anymore and neither of you are in the Circle. You’re _allowed _to tell the pretty mage girl that you like her,” I said.

“He’s not wrong, Cullen. The rules of the Order no longer apply,” said Barris.

Cullen regained his composure, but only slightly. He was still turning red. “Even if any of this were true, which it is not, she is still the Inquisitor and ought not to be concerned with such things.”

“She would probably welcome a distraction or two right now,” I pointed out.

“It would be unprofessional of me,” said Cullen. 

The three of us collectively rolled our eyes.

“Curly, just tell the girl you like her,” I said.

“I never said that I did!” exclaimed Cullen.

I waved to the woman in question across the room as she walked through the door, though she was clearly distracted and on her way somewhere. She waved back and began walking over to say hi. 

“Oh, come now, we do all have eyes,” said Rylen.

“I do not like the woman,” insisted Cullen.

“Curly,” I began.

“I do not like the Inquisitor. There. Satisfied?” snapped Cullen.

“A common sentiment, so I won’t hold that against you,” came a voice from behind.

Cullen visibly paled and immediately shot out of his seat, backpedaling furiously. “Inquisitor! My apologies. This…it’s not…I didn’t…”

Gwendolyn held up a hand to stop him, expression purposely neutral. “There’s no need, Commander. You have every right to your opinion of me. As long as it does not influence your work, you are free to hate me with every fiber of your being.”

“Inquisitor, I did not mean—” began Cullen.

She shook her head. “There’s no need to explain, Commander. As I have said, you have every right to your opinion of me.” She addressed the group of them. “My apologies, gentlemen for interrupting what was likely an otherwise pleasant evening. I’ll take my leave before my presence causes further disruption.”

“Inquisitor—” Cullen attempted, but she had already turned away and disappeared towards the door, her original purpose there completely forgotten.

Cullen was mortified.

“Well, you certainly told _her_, didn’t you,” said Rylen blandly. He could almost feel his gold slipping away from him. 

“Not that I’m an expert, Curly, but you may consider following after her,” I said lightly.

“What did you call her over here for?” hissed Cullen.

“Wanted to see you turn red and get all hot and bothered by her proximity. Instead you told her that you didn’t like her,” I said.

Cullen immediately headed out the front door of the tavern, determined to find the Inquisitor and stumble through an apology. Once outside, however, it was clear that the Inquisitor had made herself scarce. She could be just about anywhere now, which meant that Cullen’s window of opportunity to make amends had just closed.

\--- 

The next morning, a messenger arrived to deliver a neat letter from the Inquisitor, and Cullen immediately felt sick. If possible, this had turned out the worst way possible. He liked her. Maker’s Breath, he _more _than just _liked _her. If he was at all honest with himself, he cared for her a great deal and thoroughly enjoyed her company. In fact, he’d often caught himself daydreaming of enjoying a great _deal_ of her company, but always made sure to shake himself out of it. She was beautiful, intelligent, charming, kind, funny, generous, and a thousand other wonderful things he did not know how to put into words. She was lovely in every conceivable way and now…she thought he disliked her.

Cullen reluctantly opened the letter and steeled himself for whatever the contents were.

_Commander,_

_ I must first express my apologies for intruding upon your evening with friends yesterday, as I had no right to do so and was clearly unwelcome. I assure you that it will not happen again. Additionally, I would like to apologize for any actions I may have taken that in any way troubled you or caused some manner of discontent. It has only been my intention to try and get to know the people with whom I am working and to ensure that they are healthy and happy. I understand how many of my actions may have been misconstrued or seen as disrespectful or unwelcome in retrospect, and I apologize for any breach of conduct or discomfort you may feel or have felt. In the future, I will endeavor not to repeat such actions and to maintain a strictly professional working relationship with you and those around me. _

_ My sincerest apologies,_

_ Inquisitor Gwendolyn. W. Trevelyan _

Cullen groaned. Wonderful. Just wonderful. She probably thought he hated her and was just too polite not to say it to her face. Here she was bringing him baskets of food and going out of her way to try and help him with his lyrium withdrawal, taking time out of her extremely busy day to spend time with him and take care of him, and he had all but thrown it back in her face. He knew what Leliana had told them of her past and how and how cruel people had been to her, and now he was just as bad as them. How many times had she probably tried to do something nice for someone else, only to have them throw it back in her face? Too many, he would guess. And now he’d made everything so much worse, all for saying one stupid, stupid thing to Rylen in the tavern. 


	15. Melting Ice

Gwendolyn was crushed. She had thought that things were going well between them, but clearly things were wrong. Surely this wasn’t just because of the nightmare that was her drunken escapades, so worse, he really just hated her in general. Here she was imposing herself on him all the time, and he didn’t even like her. She shouldn’t have been stupid enough to think that he could ever like someone like her. No, she had been right the first time. He could never like a mage, even as a friend. She was a burden, a mistake, and clearly overly-familiar and unprofessional. It was a horrifying revelation, but one that she’d clearly needed to hear. And so, she’d resolved to make amends and stop her inflammatory behavior. She wasn’t in the Circle anymore, and her lack of professionalism and experience could not be allowed to interfere with the running of the Inquisition.

And so, she’d written a letter.

Gwendolyn did not feel better after doing this. In fact, she felt worse. Resolving to be a more professional Inquisitor was not fun. No, it was not fun at all. It had been a week now since what she privately referred to as The Drunken Mistake and The Tavern Incident respectively, and so far, being a professional, uptight leader was absolutely miserable. Oh, she had been productive and wildly efficient. But at what cost? Her friends had spent days trying to get to the bottom of what was wrong, thinking that maybe she just needed company or to lighten up. But we’d quickly realized that this was much easier said than done.

Dorian was the first to try and snap her out of it, feeling that his lack of advice may have inadvertently led to this. He figured that a bottle of wine and pastries were what was called for. But she’d claimed to be too busy and had locked the door, not wanting to talk about it. He’d tried again, attempting to bribe her with promising experiments on removing lyrium from blood. This had failed as well, seeming to hit a nerve. Next to try was Sera, who had the brilliant idea of hiding bees in the Commander’s training dummy to lighten the mood. And while it was wild fun to watch a bunch of soldiers run around in fear of bees, the Inquisitor hadn’t taken the bait. Bull and the rest of the Chargers tried to dragoon her into judging a drinking contest, but that didn’t work either.

In the end, it was Cole was finally got through to her. Cole was something of an enigma to most, what with having shown up out of nowhere when Haven was attacked and just sort of sticking around afterward. He could move from one place to another, seemingly instantaneously and could be forgotten as soon as he was seen. It was really only the Inner Circle who ever remembered seeing him, never mind acknowledged him. And even then, most found him unsettling. Solas treated him as one of his spirit friends from the Fade, and I called him kid, trying to take him under my wing, but people like Vivienne and Cassandra considered him a demon and just wanted him gone. The Inquisitor didn’t much care _what _Cole was, be it spirit or odd human; all that mattered to her was that he wanted to help people, even if his idea of help wasn’t always the same as everyone else’s.

And so, as the Inquisitor sat at her desk reading through the mountain of paperwork that required her attention, it was Cole that appeared suddenly in her quarters on the upper banister, reading and willing to help.

“Thunder booms and shakes the windows just like Father’s anger. Yelling, screaming, the small white dog’s broken body still lying at the bottom of the stairs, warm, thick blood soaking the carpet as Jowan and Cador laugh. Running, stumbling, heart racing, rain stinging your face as you slip in the mud. A white dress with embroidered flowers, stained with Daisy’s blood, streaked with rain as you run. Panic as she runs towards the lake, so little, so scared, a spot of white against the trees and darkened skies. Warm summer waters freeze as you cross them—the dog’s death is forgotten. The First Enchanter’s hug is warmer than Mother’s ever was.”

“Afternoon, Cole,” said Gwendolyn without looking up from her paperwork.

“They were cold. They tried to make you cold. But you’re not; you just think you are,” said Cole.

“That’s just what happens when you set up your base of operations in the mountains,” said Gwendolyn.

“Ice is brittle, but water is powerful; you won’t feel like shattering if you melt,” said Cole.

“Cole, I’m a bit busy at the moment. If you have a point to make, please just get to it instead of making me relive my childhood,” said Gwendolyn impatiently.

“Snow swirling, head pounding, everything hurts and aches. Legs fail, the ice is everywhere, campfires a dot in the distance. A voice calls, strong and safe like the blanket he wraps you in. He makes things warm again,” said Cole.

“Cole,” said Gwendolyn, looking at him.

“Your hands are always cold, but your smile isn’t; it doesn’t hurt as much when you’re around,” said Cole.

“Cole, for the love of Andraste, what are you trying to say?” asked Gwendolyn in exasperation.

“Your heart wants to be warm and they all miss their friend. You’re happier when you’re warm and so are they. He misses you and your baskets and the smell of vanilla and sandalwood. You walked by at the wrong time, and he said things he didn’t mean because they prodded him. He thinks your eyes sparkle when you laugh. Magic doesn’t scare him when it’s you. He thinks that you don’t like him anymore and hurts because he likes you,” said Cole.

She felt a blush spreading through her cheeks. “But…”

“Mabari pups let the ones they like win. That’s was why he let you win chess. He likes making you smile too,” continued Cole.

Gwendolyn tucked a stray hair behind her ear nervously. “That’s all well and good, but I shouldn’t do anything about it. I’m the Inquisitor. It would be inappropriate for me to…change things.”

“The little hurts will go away if you go to him,” said Cole.

“Cole, I can’t just go around propositioning the people I work with, no matter how much I like him or however much he apparently likes my perfume,” frowned Gwendolyn.

“But you want to,” said Cole.

“I shouldn’t,” said Gwendolyn, shaking her head.

“He wants you to. He thinks you’re mad at him and that makes it hurt more. You even help the headaches,” said Cole.

“I think that’s the potions I brought him for the pain,” said Gwendolyn.

“He finds you calming,” said Cole.

“Half the time all I do is complain about my day,” frowned Gwendolyn.

“He likes that you do because it means you trust him and you’re comfortable around him. Your reports from the field make him smile when he misses you,” said Cole.

Gwendolyn stared down at the paragraph she’d now reread at least five times since Cole arrived.

“The weather is nice today. It would be perfect for walking the battlements if you had a headache,” said Cole.

With that, he disappeared, leaving Gwendolyn alone at her desk once more.

\--- 

Say what you want about Cole, but he was very thorough when he wanted to be.

The Commander sat at his desk struggling to concentrate on Captain Rylen’s report through a crippling headache when Cole appeared in the office, sitting on the back of a chair in the corner.

“She likes your hair but doesn’t know how to tell you,” said Cole.

Cullen nearly jumped out of his skin. “Cole! I did not see you come in.”

“She doesn’t mean to be cold, she just doesn’t know how to be warm,” said Cole.

“Pardon?” asked Cullen as he rubbed his forehead and pressed his eyes closed.

“She’s always been alone, so she doesn’t know how not to be. Being alone feels safe, but you feel safer,” said Cole.

Cullen looked at him in shock. “What?”

“She’s worried that you won’t like her anymore if she says something,” said Cole.

“The ‘she’ in question…” trailed off Cullen, his headache temporarily forgotten.

“The Inquisitor, though she wishes more people saw her as her and not that,” said Cole.

“And…she…is not cross? Even after what happened?” wondered Cullen uncertainly.

“She was worried that she said something that upset you and that you would dislike her for it. She didn’t want you to think less of her, so she tried to be better, but ended up being cold. She wants to be warm again. You melt the ice and make things warm,” said Cole.

Cullen rubbed the back of his neck, unsure of what to say to that. “That’s, um, well…”

“Glaring, pounding, sharp pain like hammers in your skull. Nightmares from that day, even years later and without it they’re worse. You don’t want her to worry or disappoint her,” said Cole.

“Cole, is this going somewhere?” asked Cullen tiredly.

“You should tell her how you feel,” said Cole.

“She’s _the Inquisitor_. And a noblewoman. She could do significantly better than me. I will not make a fool of myself only for your prodding,” said Cullen.

Cole cocked his head to the side, likely wondering how these two could possibly be so oblivious and stubborn. “She doesn’t care about that. She only wants you to like her for who she is, not for what her titles are.”

“How do you even know all of this?” said Cullen.

“People are very loud when they’re upset. Even she’s loud right now, and she’s usually quiet through all the brightness,” said Cole.

“How…?” said Cullen, still entirely confused about everything that was happening.

“It’s a nice day. She likes the way the afternoon sun turns the mountains pink,” said Cole.

At Cullen’s bewildered expression, Cole disappeared as quickly as he had appeared.

\--- 

After checking her appearance quickly in the mirror, and before she could question her resolve, Gwendolyn left her quarters and headed for Cullen’s office. She couldn’t believe she was doing this. He would probably just awkwardly turn red and politely reject her. Yes, that was by far the most likely outcome. Why in the world was she listening to Cole of all people? This was a bad idea.

She found Cullen over by his bookshelf searching for a specific title, but he looked over when she walked in the room.

“Inquisitor. Was there something you needed?” he asked.

Gwendolyn began to feel sick. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all. No. She had to see this through. Better to know that he was apathetic at best than to keep questioning.

“I…thought we could talk…alone?” said Gwendolyn.

Maybe it was that even in the dim lighting of his office he could tell that she was blushing. Maybe it was that she wasn’t looking him in the eye as she said it. Maybe it was Cole’s words earlier. Whichever way, Cullen took a moment to catch her meaning. “Alone? I…mean…of course.”

Gwendolyn was entirely positive that if a high dragon appeared in Skyhold right then and there she would rather let it eat her whole than continue this conversation. Nevertheless, she followed Cullen from his office to a remote part of the battlements, theoretically away from nosy people, prying eyes, and soldiers delivering paperwork.

As they walked, Cullen rubbed the back of his neck nervously, looking at anything and everything that wasn’t Gwendolyn Trevelyan. “It’s a nice day.”

The wind carried his words away so that she could barely hear. She stopped walking and turned to look at him. “What?”

Cullen stopped too, the butterflies in his stomach seemed to be working overtime. Why was it that this woman made him so damn inarticulate? “It’s…there was something you wished to discuss?”

“Well, not the weather,” frowned Gwendolyn.

“I gathered that much,” said Cullen.

Gwendolyn took a deep breath and decided to go for broke. Get straight to the point. He was a military man, after all, right? They always seemed to value directness. “Cullen, I care for you, and…” Gwendolyn sighed and looked away from him, still not sure how to put this into words.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“You left the templars, but do you trust mages? Could you think of me as anything…more?” said Gwendolyn, twisting her gloved hands together anxiously. Oh, Maker, this was a mistake. This was bad. This was very, very bad. How had she let herself get talked into this?

“I could. I mean, I do…think of you. And what I might say in this sort of situation,” said Cullen as he rubbed his face.

Gwendolyn was already a pale girl, but she turned white as a sheet as he spoke. Oh, Maker, he really didn’t feel the same way. She really must have made a fool of herself. He’d even prepared a response for when she inevitably turned out to be an idiot and do something like this. There was a knot in her stomach and her chest began to ache. She leaned back on the outer wall for support.

“Oh,” said Gwendolyn. She felt so very, very small.

Hearing her tone, he looked over at her and quickly began backpedaling. Clearly, she hadn’t understood. “Maker, no, it’s…not what you think. I’m not very good at this. I’ve thought about what I might say to you, if it ever came up. Properly. Because I do…think of you. Far more than I should.”

Gwendolyn looked at him, the color beginning to return to her face in full force. Her heart was fluttering like a sparrow trapped in her chest and trying to escape. When she spoke, she sounded almost breathless. “Then what’s stopping you?”

He strode towards her, slowly closing the space between them. “You’re the Inquisitor. We’re at war. And you…I didn’t think it was possible.”

“And yet I’m still here,” said Gwendolyn as he moved in closer.

“So you are…it seems too much to ask,” said Cullen as he closed the space between them. “But I want to…”

Gwendolyn’s eyes fluttered closed as he leaned in towards her and gently rested his hands on her waist. She could feel his breath, smell the leather and polish on his armor, feel the warmth he radiated. This was really going to happen. He really felt the same way. After so many years of being alone and never experiencing that sweeping, all-consuming romance that everyone always went on about, she would finally understand. After twenty-six years, she would finally get her first kiss—

The door to the battlements banged open and Scout Jim walked through, carrying a stack of reports and staring down at them. “Commander!”

Cullen jerked back from Gwendolyn, having been very much interrupted right at the most critical moment. Gwendolyn blinked her eyes open, almost getting emotional whiplash from the sudden change.

“You wanted a copy of Sister Leliana’s report,” continued Scout Jim, completely oblivious to what he’d just interrupted.

Cullen stepped away from Gwendolyn to face the scout, his expression positively murderous and his voice practically a growl. “What?”

“Sister Leliana’s report. You wanted it delivered ‘without delay’,” said Scout Jim, still utterly ignorant of the hole he was digging himself into.

Cullen loomed over the young man, looking very much like a lion about to move in for the kill.

The scout finally caught on that maybe, just maybe, he’d done something to displease his commanding officer. He glanced from the clearing furious Commander in front of him to the Inquisitor who was leaning on the battlements looking around and fidgeting, a blush still apparent on her cheeks, and then back again. Something clicked in his mind. He had just interrupted something.

“Or…to your office…right…” trailed off the scout nervously as he took a few cautionary steps back and then full on ran away, the door slamming shut hastily in his wake.

The disturbance gone, but the earlier spell broken, Gwendolyn closed her eyes and sighed deeply. How very much her luck for reality to step in just when things were beginning to finally go her way. “Cullen, if you need to—”

She didn’t get to finish that thought, because no sooner had she begun than the Commander suddenly turned to her, took her face in his hands, and kissed her passionately. For a moment she was stunned, not at all certain as to what was going on, but it was only for a moment. Once she realized, she all but melted.

The kiss was over almost as suddenly as it began as the Commander realized just what he was doing. He released her but didn’t move. “I’m sorry…that was…um…really nice.”

Gwendolyn’s mind was in an absolute fog of happiness and newfound romance. “That was what I wanted.”

Cullen’s smirk was devastating. “Oh. Good.”

And with that, the Commander took his Inquisitor into his arms and kissed her utterly senseless, just as he’d wanted to do for quite some time. That kiss said everything that neither of them were able to put into words. It was more than either of them would have imagined and everything they needed.

Cole watched from the top of the nearest tower, happy to have healed more of the little hurts in the world.

Not to brag, but I won the betting pool. Well, split it with Nightingale.


	16. Everybody Talks

For two very private people who intended to keep their relationship on the down low, practically the entire Inquisition had heard about it by the next morning. When gossip that juicy pops up, it spreads like wildfire, and Skyhold was big, but not _that_ big.

The first indication that something was off happened when the Commander arrived for training early the next morning and all of his recruits fell dead silent upon his arrival. Usually conversation would continue casually, if become a bit quieter. But oh no. Not this time. It wasn’t even particularly subtle. The muffled giggles from some of them all but confirmed it, as did Rylen’s shit-eating grin. There was no denying the obvious now. Everybody knew, and he was unlikely to live this down. Ever.

The second indication came for the Inquisitor. She left her quarters that morning, passed by the Orlesian nobles, and overheard them gossiping about her.

“Whoever would have guessed at such a pairing?” whispered a nobleman.

“I _know_,” said a noblewoman.

“The allure of command is universally tantalizing,” said a third.

Gwendolyn had immediately known that this was going to be a rough day. And as she went about her meetings for the day, it became clear that no one was going to let this go.

The first meeting, oddly enough, was with Sera, who had left a cryptic message about sending troops into Verchiel in the Inquisitor’s quarters. Before Gwendolyn committed troops to anything, so needed a proper explanation.

Gwendolyn knocked on Sera’s open door politely to announce her arrival. “Sera?”

“Always good to see you, yeah?” said Sera from where she lounged on the settee in her loft apartment. The room was an eclectic mix of knick-knacks, art, pillows, blankets, and weaponry. We collectively referred to it as ‘Sera’s Cabinet of Whoswasit’.

“You said you wanted me to send men to Verchiel?” asked Gwendolyn.

“Not you personally, yeah? Just have Commander Stick-Up-His-Arse send a few soldiers to march through. Should be worth your while, according to my people,” said Sera.

Gwendolyn frowned at her.

“Hmm, not the right name, innit? Not what you call him? Shoulda gone with Cullen Wullen. Cully Wully,” said Sera, making kissing noises.

Gwendolyn turned slightly pink and rubbed her forehead. “That’s not—how did you—never mind. Why Verchiel?”

“Some nobs shoving their cods around are taking it out on the refugees to one up the other. You ride in, all special and important, and things get better,” said Sera.

Gwendolyn nodded slowly. “I’ll have my advisors look into it. Verchiel isn’t far from the Exalted Plains and we were planning to send men there anyway.”

“Just tell people to do it and it gets done. Must be nice being on top,” said Sera with a suggestive wink.

It took Gwendolyn a few moments to understand Sera’s meaning, to which she just rolled her eyes. “I’ll talk to you later, Sera.”

“Works for you, you know? Makes you more like people,” said Sera.

Gwendolyn paused at the door and looked back at her in confusion.

“Let me put it this way. You’re all the way up there, being the Herald of Andraste and the Lady Inquisitor, with all your fancy titles and your advisors with fancy titles. But scary Commanders and Inquisitors tripping over themselves and getting all red when the other walks in the room makes you more like people. And when the people around you seem like people, you seem more like people. You see?” said Sera.

“But I already _am _a person,” said Gwendolyn uncertainly.

“Well, duh, but you’re not a person to the little people, yeah? You’re an idea. People compare you to the Maker’s Prophet. You’re all silver and white and glowy and scary. Helps people like you when you seem more like people,” said Sera.

“If you say so. I will defer to your expertise on the matter,” said Gwendolyn.

“See you around then, Lady Inquisitor,” said Sera with a dramatic salute.

As Gwendolyn made her way through the tavern, she earned only the occasional notable look, but no more so than usual. She was getting used to it, after all. The weird looks, that is. She was on display no matter where she went, turning heads and earning awed whispers. It didn’t matter that she didn’t like the attention. It didn’t matter that she had only ever wanted a nice, unobtrusive life in peace. None of that mattered, seeing as this was her reality.

But the Inquisitor’s mind was still on that battalion Sera had requested, and the Commander was leading training on the other side of the courtyard, so that’s where Gwendolyn headed. Her mind was envisioning the pieces on her war table and the troop movements, thinking through the consequences of the battalion’s detour. Consequently, she did not notice how the soldiers blatantly stared as she walked by. She did not notice the sniggering or how soldiers glanced at the Commander.

“Inquisitor,” acknowledged Cullen.

“Commander. If I asked you to reroute a battalion of men through Verchiel, what would you say?” asked Gwendolyn.

“Is there a particular reason?” said Cullen.

“Sera asked. Her ‘friends’ say that there are Orlesian nobles participating in a land squabble, which wouldn’t be entirely noteworthy if it weren’t for the fact that they’re displacing refugees in the process,” said Gwendolyn.

Cullen made a face.

“Orlesian nobles ruining lives over petty squabbles. So, can we spare the men?” asked Gwendolyn.

“Have Leliana check the information first. I don’t particularly trust the information from these Red Jennies,” said Cullen.

“But it _is _possible that we could send the men?” asked Gwendolyn.

“Provided the information is sound, yes. It would be only a minor detour and require very little effort on our part,” said Cullen.

“Excellent. I’ll go find Leliana, then,” said Gwendolyn.

Cullen nodded.

“Lunch later?” asked Gwendolyn hopefully.

Cullen smiled lightly at her. “Of course.”

As Gwendolyn headed into the castle and up through the library, she encountered her next set of trials.

“Have a thing for strapping young templars, I hear,” said Dorian over a book.

Gwendolyn turned a bit pink. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Dearest Gwendolyn, this lovely little reading nook _does _have a window you know. It even overlooks a rather quaint stretch of battlements,” said Dorian as he fixed her with a grin.

“Oh, wonderful,” said Gwendolyn.

“If it is _any _consolation, it looked like _quite _the kiss. Was it as good as it looked?” asked Dorian.

“I don’t kiss and tell, Dorian,” said Gwendolyn.

“Well that’s no fun,” pouted Dorian. “I wanted details.”

Gwendolyn rolled her eyes and intended to head upstairs, but as she rounded the library, the balcony door opened to reveal Enchanter Vivienne, in all her pretentious glory.

“There you are, my dear. I have been meaning to find you,” said Vivienne.

“You have?” asked Gwendolyn, expected yet another complaint about the upholstery in the main hall or her wardrobe. Or perhaps advice on knight-enchanting.

“Regarding the Commander. He was a templar, you know. It is untoward of you,” said Vivienne.

“Pardon?” asked Gwendolyn, taken aback.

“My dear, everyone has already heard; there is no need to be coy. He is an improper match for someone of your birth and position. You could and indeed _should _do much better than a no-name former templar with a truly revolting fashion sense,” said Vivienne.

“None of those things are particularly important to me,” said Gwendolyn lightly.

“They _should _be important. You are the Inquisitor, a knight-enchanter, and noblewoman; you should be involved with someone suited to your stature. If you are to have an affair, at least have the decency to have one with a wealthy nobleman or royal. And if you are intent on being shocking about it, you may at least choose nobility that is not Orlesian. The kind of scandal _you _should be involved in is choosing an Antivan lord over the empress’s cousin, _not _carrying on with your ex-templar from a family of Fereldan…peasants,” said Vivienne distastefully.

“Vivienne, though I understand your position on the matter, my affairs are my own and if I am to control even one aspect of my life, it will be this one. Good day to you,” said Gwendolyn.

Before Vivienne could get another word in, Gwendolyn disappeared into the rookery in search of Leliana.

The Spymaster was standing over her worktable scanning a report with curled edges, clearly having just arrived via Baron Plucky, the raven she held in her arms while absentmindedly stroking its feathers.

“Good morning, Inquisitor. How may I help you?” asked Leliana.

Gwendolyn was just glad that Nightingale hadn’t mentioned Cullen yet. “Sera’s friends had some information out of Verchiel and wants us to send troops. Apparently, there’s something of a land squabble that’s displacing refugees. Before we commit to rerouting men through there, I was hoping you might look into the matter further.”

“I expect you already spoke with the Commander on the matter?” said Leliana with a small, knowing smile.

Gwendolyn groaned. “Not you too.”

Leliana’s smile widened. “I won a fair bit of coin out of this. I knew my assessment of the situation was correct.”

Gwendolyn sighed heavily. “Well, at least someone’s enjoying this.”

“Cullen is not the only blond ex-templar from Ferelden who I’ve watched stumble his way through charming a beautiful hero with the weight of Thedas on her shoulders. At least Cullen never prefaced asking for advice by asking if I was female,” said Leliana.

When Gwendolyn just stared blankly, Leliana continued. “No one has ever accused Alistair of having a way with women or being suave. Half of his charm was how endearingly awkward he was, though it worked wonders on Flora.”

“That sounds like it must have been amusing to watch,” said Gwendolyn.

“They were adorable, though I’m certain you and the Commander will be just as sweet,” said Leliana.

Gwendolyn sighed heavily. She really wasn’t going to escape hearing about this from anyone today, was she?

\---

While Gwendolyn went about her day largely being teased mercilessly by her friends, the Commander had a very different afternoon. There he was, still in a pleasant mood from his lunch with the Inquisitor, the now-daily walk on the battlements they’d had, and the tea she’d given him to help with his headaches, when all of a sudden the door burst open with all the force and ferocity of a high dragon in heat.

Cullen looked up, only to be faced with the Seeker.

“Seeker Cassandra, is something the matter?” asked Cullen in alarm.

Cassandra closed the door neatly behind her. “I have heard some rather curious news as of late. Either the dwarf is lying through his teeth or we must have a word.”

“Is this concerning Kirkwall?” asked Cullen. It was the only thing he could think of that I would have said that would be even remotely inflammatory.

“No. It is with regards to the Inquisitor,” said Cassandra, crossing her arms and frowning at him.

“Ah. Yes. What about her?” said Cullen.

“He claims that you and her are…involved. Is this true?” asked Cassandra.

“As of extremely recently,” said Cullen carefully.

Cassandra sighed heavily. “I had feared as much.”

“Feared? Is there something wrong?” asked Cullen, his blood running cold. Was it because Gwendolyn was a mage? Certainly the rules the Chantry had put in place no longer applied.

“She is a young woman from a noble family, whom she abhors, and she is a mage, Commander; she has never had a serious relationship before and while she may be an expert in the arcane and skilled in combat, matters of the heart are entirely out of her realm of expertise. The only ventures into romance she has likely ever had were when her loathsome relations flung suitors at her. Do you understand?” said Cassandra.

“I have no intention of mistreating her, Seeker,” said Cullen.

“If you intend to court this woman, Commander, you must do so because you care for her and wish to in the long term, not because she is a pretty face and conveniently located during a time of war,” said the Seeker, her eyes conveying all the threats left unspoken by her words.

“I swear to you that I would never hurt her. I only wish for her to be happy and safe,” said Cullen.

Cassandra seemed to relax somewhat. “It is a relief to hear you say this. Though I know you to be an honorable man, I do worry for her. Though she has proven herself an admirable and formidable woman, we must remember that she is still a mage and vulnerable to possession. I would not wish to allow a demon a point of entry because of a broken heart. And I would not…wish her harm.”

Cullen nearly winced at the idea of the Inquisitor becoming possessed. It was a concern that had led them to create a contingency plan, and it was not a plan which he enjoyed dwelling on.

“As I said, Seeker, my intentions are honorable towards her,” said Cullen.

“Good. Then I shall intrude upon your work no longer. Good day, Commander,” said Cassandra.

With that, the Seeker left the office.

\---

Gwendolyn had thought it would be a good day. She had thought when she woke up to sunshine and the promise of spending time with her commander that things were finally going her way. She had a packed schedule for the day, between helping Dorian with his research into Corypheus’s Tevinter lineage, magical study with Vivienne, a review of missives with Josephine, honing her swordsmanship with Cullen on the training grounds, another armor fitting with Harritt and Dagna in the undercroft, and reviewing reports. It was going to be a long day, but Gwendolyn had woken up thinking it would be a good one, despite all that.

When her personal mail arrived just after she met with Vivienne, Gwendolyn’s good day came to an abrupt end. It wasn’t the dispatches, letters from nobles, or other junk mail that bothered her. Oh no. This was much worse. This was the unthinkable. Years of torment and cruelty, and now…_this_?

Gwendolyn read and reread the letter a dozen times, angry tears blurring the pages. After all this time, she thought she was over it. She thought that the old wounds were healing, just as the one on her face had. But clearly she was wrong.

She was so absorbed in her misery that she lost all concept of time. It was not until the Commander unceremoniously barged into her quarters that she had any idea that something may be amiss. But even then, she didn’t much take in her surroundings as she scrambled to her feet from where she’d been sitting at the foot of her bed.

“Cullen! Why are you—” began Gwendolyn.

“You froze the door?” said Cullen angrily.

“Froze…?” blinked Gwendolyn.

It was only then that she realized what had happened. Most everything in her room was covered in a layer of frost and the room was so cold that she could see her breath. The doors and windows to her balconies were frozen over and the air in the room was frigid.

Cullen, who was initially furious at the overabundance of ice magic, felt his anger melt away when he looked at her. She was clearly distraught, with the remnants of tears still on her face. The crumpled letter in her hand only seemed to reinforce that. Obviously, whatever she’d read in that letter had truly upset her. So, instead of demanding to know why she’d used this much ice magic or why she hadn’t attended her meetings, he crossed the room and pulled her into a bone crushing hug.

“Tell me what’s wrong,” said Cullen gently.

Gwendolyn took a few deep, calming breaths, letting his warmth chase off some of the chill in her bones. For someone she spent a great deal of her time arguing with, he was a calming presence. Like a balm to her aching soul.

He pressed a kiss into her hair. “Whatever it is, you can tell me.”

Once she trusted her voice, she took a shaky breath and said, “I’m guessing Leliana already told you everything there possibly is to know about me?”

“A brief summary of details relevant to the Inquisition,” allowed Cullen.

Gwendolyn stepped away from him and dropped down onto the edge of her bed, hugging a throw pillow as she focused on a spot on the carpet. “I expect you already know that the Trevelyans pride themselves on using any means necessary to gain power? That I have numerous uncles and cousins among the templars and clerics? Or, well, I _did_. A lot of them were at the Conclave. At any rate, I come from a family of very _proud _Andrastians who are very pious and contribute _greatly _to the Ostwick Chantry. You would think that my mother is in the running to be the next Divine, the way she carries on. They adore politics and the Chantry so much, we’re practically Orlesian. My parents love two things in this world: The Chantry and their own power, not necessarily in that order.

“From birth, I was betrothed to some son of a nobleman from Starkhaven—I don’t even remember the man’s name. The family was apparently _very _pious. Anyway, it didn’t last long, seeing as I came into my magic when I was four. And oh, if I didn’t go from blessed child of Andraste to demonspawn overnight. You see, Circle mages are entirely useless if your goal is to marry them off to quite literally anyone in Southern Thedas. But, if your lust for power knows no borders, then it becomes less of an obstacle and more of a burden or inconvenience. And so, the Trevelyans began playing both sides, doting on the Chantry while doing their absolute best to make contacts among the Nevarran mortalatasis and yes, even the Tevinter Imperium. Mostly the Imperium. And no, the irony isn’t lost on me.

“So, for the past, oh, ten or so years, my parents have kept me nice and safe and locked away in the Circle, only letting me see proper daylight so they could throw me at sons of magisters, necromancers, and even just to properly show off their powerful mage daughter to powerful friends from magically-leaning families.

“It took me a long time to realize that my family wasn’t just trying their best to give their daughter a stable future. For the longest time, I was their creature; I was their pawn that they just shoved around on their chessboard as they tried to seize power. I wasn’t their daughter; I was just their little pet mage—just another thing they owned. Between them and my brother—well, I stayed in my Circle tower and didn’t complain like a good little mage. All while it just ate away at me on the inside.

“But then the Circles fell. Then my brother murdered my best friend to send a message and gave me a nice big scar to remember him by. The neutral mages who wanted no part in a war that no one could win left the remains of the tower, but we Trevelyans are a rather determined bunch, so my dear parents tracked me down and attempted to drag me home. In person, no less. To which I informed them in no uncertain terms that I was not in fact their political tool, I would have nothing to do with them ever again, and if they ever contacted me ever again, I would join the mage rebellion just to blacken their precious family name.

“It seemed to work, seeing as Cador’s attempt to drag me home was the only one I’ve seen since. But I guess now that I’m the Inquisitor, they have other plans,” finished Gwendolyn as she handed Cullen the letter.

_My Dearest Daughter Gwendolyn,_

_ Your father and I are beyond relieved to hear that you are alive and well after that calamity at Haven. It is such a tragedy that so many brave men and women on both sides had to die for the sake of such senseless violence. It is truly through Andraste’s good grace and the Maker’s will that you have emerged alive and well from all of this. Truly the Maker has blessed you, dearest daughter, and the Trevelyan name that you are alive and well and bringing light to all the world. We have always known that you would be a beacon of light in a time of great darkness. From the moment you were born, we knew that you were touched with Andraste’s grace and the Maker’s blessing and that you were destined to do great things. _

_ Tales of your great beauty and heroic deeds have reached far and wide, my dearest girl. Simply everyone is eager to meet you and make the acquaintance of the lovely Inquisitor Trevelyan. Why, even just this month your father has received no fewer than seventeen requests for your hand. We had to refuse them all, naturally. None of them were good enough for the likes of our dearest girl. Why, a catch such as you is good enough only for the quality of kings and emperors. You lead and army of the faithful, our blessed child, and you will be doing the Maker’s work in leading the Trevleyans to glory. _

_ Gwendolyn, as your mother, I must remind you that you have an obligation to your family. For twenty-six years we cared for you, fed you, clothed you, and kept you safe. We gave you a life of luxury most mages could only ever dream of when desire demons dangled it in their faces. We have given you more than you ever deserved for longer than any parents should ever be burdened with a child. For years you have spurned our efforts to see you happy, but now it is time that you repay us for our kindness on your behalf. We have given you everything, and now your father and I would like to encourage you to remember us as you contemplate your recent successes. _

_ As you are, by your nature, a mage of loose morals, we must naturally remind you to meditate on the teachings of the Chantry. Your worth is directly proportionate to how pure you are, dearest girl, and you would do well to remember that. No man of any worth desires a wife who has been tainted by the hands of another. You must embody the name you have been given and become the Herald of Andraste, as pure in body as in name. _

_ It goes without saying, our dearest daughter, that we are exceedingly proud of the woman you have become. The Chant of Light states that magic exists to serve man, never to rule over him, and you will truly be serving your family by heeding our words and following through with this Inquisition. We would ask, of course, that you do everything in your power not to alienate potential suitors. The Imperium remains one of the only places that could possibly accept a mage into their ranks, and you would do well not to properly alienate these Venatori, as I understand they comprise a decent faction of the most powerful men in the magisterium. _

_ We must also express our displeasure with your choice to ally with rebel mages over the Templar Order. As a member of the Trevelyan family, you had an obligation to seek the aid of the templars through any means necessary. Furthermore, your brother and the rest of the templars have taken up arms against your Inquisition, and that is unacceptable. You have managed to fail not only your own dear, sweet, cherished brother who watched over and protected you for years, but to fail us as well. _

_ Daughter, you have an obligation to the Trevelyans not to fail us. Remember that you are our daughter before you are anything else. Not a mage, not an Inquisitor, and not a woman, but a Trevelyan. We expect you to act accordingly. _

_ With all our love, _

_ Lady Elowen Trevelyan _

Cullen finished the letter and looked up at Gwendolyn in disbelief.

“I know the Orlesians look down on the Free Marches, but really my parents put the Orlesians to _shame _when it comes to petty power grabs,” said Gwendolyn.

“They can’t touch you here. You are entirely beyond their reach. They can’t hurt you anymore,” said Cullen as he rested a hand on her shoulder.

She sighed heavily. “Not physically anyway, but I expect you noticed what she said about Cador?”

“You think he’s one of the Red Templars now?” said Cullen.

“Don’t you? Wasn’t it you who told me that what templars hadn’t been corrupted had joined the Inquisition with Ser Barris? If Cador is presently fighting against us, then he’s clearly a Red Templar,” said Gwendolyn.

“Samson will undoubtedly use him to learn your weaknesses and exploit your relation,” said Cullen.

“Speaking of Samson, I know he’s the Red Templar’s leader and Corypheus’s general, but you seemed to know him?” said Gwendolyn as a question.

“He was a templar in Kirkwall and my roommate for a time before he was removed from the Order,” said Cullen.

“He wasn’t the roommate who snored, was he?” asked Gwendolyn.

“Actually, he was,” said Cullen.

“Add that to the list of his many crimes, then. How did he get kicked out of the Order?” asked Gwendolyn.

“He helped pass love letters between a mage named Maddox and his sweetheart. To my knowledge, nothing happened to the woman, but Maddox was made tranquil for corrupting a templar and Samson was removed from the Order. When last I heard of him, he was on the streets begging to fuel his lyrium addiction,” said Cullen.

“He was made tranquil for _that_?” gaped Gwendolyn.

“Knight-Commander Meredith had mages made tranquil for far less,” said Cullen as a shadow passed over his face.

“Sounds like a lovely woman. At any rate, I expect being Corypheus’s general is something of an improvement from living on the streets of Kirkwall,” said Gwendolyn.

“It’s no excuse. What he’s done to the Order, to all of those people—it’s unforgivable,” said Cullen darkly.

She touched his arm gently. “I hardly said it was. I don’t suppose there’s a way to appeal to his better demons? If he truly did help this Maddox person, then perhaps he was once kind. Do you think he could be turned against Corypheus?”

“No. If there was anything good in him, it’s gone now. Still, we’ll need to remove him if we stand any chance of defeating the Red Templars, let alone Corypheus. They must be getting all of that Red Lyrium from _somewhere_. With your permission, I’ll look into it,” said Cullen.

“You hardly need my permission for that, Cullen,” said Gwendolyn.

“And I’ll see what I can do about finding your brother. Removing him from the picture is without a doubt in the Inquisition’s best interest. Will that be a problem?” asked Cullen.

“If you had killed him back at Haven I wouldn’t have cared. He made my life miserable at the Circle. Believe me, you have no need to consider my emotionally compromised over this,” said Gwendolyn.

“The temperature in this room would beg to differ,” said Cullen lightly.

“I just…I thought I was through dealing with them. I thought that once I left Ostwick for good, that I’d stop having them trying to control and manipulate me. But clearly I was wrong about that. I have a feeling that I could become a hermit in the Anderfels and they’d still find a way,” said Gwendolyn tiredly.

“They can threaten until they’re blue in the face, but their threats are empty. My advice to you is to forget about them. Put them behind you and move forward. It’s a simple task to ensure that all future letters from them never reach you. You have people here who care about you and who would do anything for you. You need only ask,” said Cullen as he touched her face.

She leaned into his touch and put her hand over his, amazed at how that simple advice helped. “Thank you.” 

\---

A few days later, the Inquisitor, Seeker Pentaghast, Sera, Dorian, and Iron Bull left for the Exalted Plains to help our people working to stop the Orlesian Civil War. You see, it wasn’t bad enough that Duke Gaspard and Empress Celene were fighting each other, but according to our advance forces there was another group taking part. They called themselves the Freemen of the Dales and were comprised primarily of deserters from the Orlesian army. Or at least, that’s who they were on the surface. There was also that little matter of them working with the Venatori, summoning demons all over the place, and resurrecting the undead to fight for them.

Needless to say, it was a pretty ugly sight and more than a bit messy. The only good thing was that a temporary armistice had to be called between Gaspard’s and Celene’s armies, seeing as there were so many demons and undead running about that both armies were holed up in their respective strongholds. The Inquisitor’s arrival, along with a fair number of our soldiers, allowed the sources of the undead to be torched, the bodies laid to rest, and the ramparts cleared. The Freemen of the Dales were still a present force, but she’d struck a major blow.

By then she’d been gone for over a month, which had given other people ample time to get their shit together, respond to my letter, and drag their ass over to Skyhold. My letter to the Inquisitor saying as much led her to leave her soldiers to handle the much-reduced risk at the Exalted Plains and return to Skyhold.

When she and her companions arrived back, they were met by her advisors and the usual hullabaloo. Cullen helped his Inquisitor down from her horse and greeted her with a smile.

“Inquisitor, we were—” he began.

“Eagerly awaiting your return. Some more than others,” said Leliana with a wicked smile.

“That’s not—I mean, it’s—” Cullen attempted, clearly flustered, before he sighed in defeat. “Welcome back, Inquisitor.”

“Varric’s friend is here. Once you’ve recovered from your travels, you may wish to meet with her,” said Leliana.

“So he said in his letter. Who exactly are we talking about?” asked Gwendolyn.

Leliana’s eyes flicked over to Cassandra. “Someone who may be of assistance.”

Cullen looked exhausted at the very thought.

“Well, at least let me not smell like horse to go meet…whoever this is,” said Gwendolyn.

About an hour later, she arrived on the battlements looking polished and clean in her day’s vigil white coat. I’d stationed myself there to facilitate the meeting, seeing as it stood the smallest chance of someone accidentally strolling by or stumbling upon us all.

“Afternoon, Varric. So, who’s this friend of yours?” asked Gwendolyn.

I gave my friend the signal and she strolled out of the tower behind the Inquisitor. “Inquisitor Trevelyan, meet Sadie Hawke, the Champion of Kirkwall.”

Gwendolyn’s eyebrows were trying to escape her face as she turned to meet none other than Sadie Hawke, in all of her rebellious mage glory. They were practically perfect opposites. Here was Gwendolyn Trevelyan, all polished in her white coat and silver silk, her white-blonde hair all pinned up and neat. She held herself with an air of nobility that no amount of time in the Circle could eliminate, and all her time as Inquisitor had helped to reinforce. And then there was Hawke, dressed in red and black leather with gleaming armor, and sharp black eyeliner that could kill a man. Hawke was the way she had always been, exuding an air of casual superiority and general attitude of not giving a flying fuck what anyone thought about her. No amount of time or personal tragedy could change that particular aspect of her. I doubt being married to one of the most wanted criminals in Thedas helped that.

They were very different people, yet both still had excellent taste in author friends.

“Inquisitor, Varric’s told me much about you,” said Hawke as she walked over to lean on the battlements.

Gwendolyn hid her shock well. She’d only ever heard stories about Hawke before. It was one thing to hear tales told of a legend, and quite another to have the real deal standing in front of her. After all, however indirectly, this _was _technically the woman she owed her present freedom to. That wasn’t exactly lost on her. Still, she’d had a long enough day already that she wasn’t going to let herself get carried away and gush at Hawke. She did have _some _decorum left in her, after all.

“A pleasure to make your acquaintance. Varric said you may have some advice for me?” said Gwendolyn.

“I hardly see how my experience would be relevant. Unless you have a horde of rampaging Qunari to worry about, I’m afraid I won’t be much help,” said Hawke in amusement.

“We have one Qunari. Iron Bull may just qualify as a horde all on his own,” said Gwendolyn.

Hawke smirked at that. “All right, Inquisitor, ask away.”

“First, can I ask a question? Where have you _been_? Cassandra and Leliana have been looking for you for _ages_. Since before the Inquisition was even officially called,” said Gwendolyn.

“I was in hiding. When the Divine threatened to send an Exalted March to Kirkwall, I thought my leaving would divide their forces and save the city from the damage. Turns out, I needn’t have bothered. That march never came, and I haven’t exactly been itching to return to the public eye,” said Hawke.

“Well, they’ll certainly be thrilled about this development,” said Gwendolyn as she glanced over at me.

I shrugged innocently.

“I’m sure they will, especially once I tell you what I’ve heard,” said Hawke.

Gwendolyn snapped to attention. “What _have_ you heard?”

“Besides that you, and I quote, ‘stand a good chance of fixing Blondie’s mess’?” said Hawke.

“Blondie?” asked Gwendolyn in confusion.

“Anders,” said Hawke. I glanced at her, gaging the reaction. When last I’d seen her, the mere mention of Anders was guaranteed to set off a whole tempest of emotions in her. Time, apparently, had healed some wounds. Somewhat. Blondie was still likely in the doghouse, but that’s what you get for blindsiding your lover about blowing up a chantry.

Gwendolyn didn’t know Hawke well enough to notice. “If you don’t mind, what exactly _happened _in that regard?”

“I’m not sure there ever was _just _an Anders. There was a voice in him, driving him toward justice for the mages, so loud that it drowned everything out. Even me,” said Hawke.

“I heard that you two were…close,” said Gwendolyn.

“If by ‘close’ you mean did I live with him in sin for almost six years and am I presently married to him, then yes. But when he went mad…I couldn’t stop what he did. But let this be a lesson to you that if your friends and love interest all explicitly warn you that starting a relationship with the possessed rebel mage is a bad idea, maybe listen to them before you move in together and he decides to blow up a chantry. It creates marital problems farther down the line, although it _does _make for an excellent trump card during arguments,” said Hawke. “At any rate, he’s not why I’m here. Directly, anyway. Corypheus was my problem before he was yours. The Wardens had him held prisoner and were using my father in a blood ritual—it’s a long story. But we’d killed Corypheus. He was dead. Very dead. No room for argument on the matter. But now he’s back? And now the Wardens have disappeared? It’s more than a little suspect, would you not agree?” said Hawke.

“You think the Wardens disappearing has something to do with Corypheus?” asked Gwendolyn, glancing between the two of us.

“Even before he had woken up, he was driving the Wardens guarding him into servitude and insanity. A Warden friend of mine has been looking into the matter. He could tell you more about it. If you’re interested, he can meet us in Crestwood to fill you in,” said Hawke.

“‘If I’m interested’? Of course I’m interested. Where’s Crestwood?” said Gwendolyn.

“Ferelden, to the north. Not far from the Coastlands. Plan to leave soon and I can meet you there in two weeks,” said Hawke.

“All right. I’ll make the arrangements. I have a bad feeling about all of this,” said Gwendolyn.

“As do I, Inquisitor, otherwise I wouldn’t be here. Believe me,” said Hawke.

“Fair enough,” allowed Gwendolyn.

“Although, I must admit, you’ve gathered quite the interesting group here,” prefaced Hawke.

“I know, I have something of a motley crew of companions, but it takes a village, as they say,” said Gwendolyn.

“I can relate, I assure you. Still, even your advisors are rather curious. The Antivan noblewoman I understand, I suppose, though how she got mixed up in all this Chantry nonsense is beyond me. The Left Hand of the Divine I understand completely. But your commander? Cullen? The ex-Knight-Captain? Since when can he tolerate mages, never mind serve under one?” said Hawke.

Gwendolyn bristled, as she typically did when people made comments about her commander. “I will have you know that Cullen is an excellent commander and the Inquisition would not be where it is without him. And though he may once have mistrusted mages, he’s gotten past that.”

Hawke raised an eyebrow. “‘May have once mistrusted’? Inquisitor, are we speaking of the same man here? Former Knight-Captain of Kirkwall? Mr. Meredith’s Not Crazy She’s Just Under A Lot of Pressure? Mr. Mages Aren’t People Like the Rest of Us? _That _Knight-Captain Cullen?”

Hawke looked at me for confirmation.

“What can I say? Curly’s almost tolerable now. Spends too much time looking serious and training his men, but he’s, shall we say, _better_ around our dear Inquisitor. And doesn’t have a problem with mages. At least not pretty blonde ones with glowing hands,” I said, giving Hawke a meaningful look.

“_No_,” gasped Hawke in disbelief.

“Oh yes,” I countered.

“That—that has nothing to do with his competency as a military advisor,” said Gwendolyn, her face growing warm.

“And you’re a _mage_. Unbelievable. Oh, he is never living this down. I have to tell everyone now. People owe me money for this. Merrill and Aveline will be shocked. Isabella definitely owes me money now. Not that she didn’t before, of course. Anders will be beside himself,” said Hawke.

Gwendolyn sighed in resignation. “It’s been a pleasure meeting you, Hawke. If you’ll excuse me, I have preparations to make.”

“Of _course_, Inquisitor. I’ll see you in Crestwood,” said Hawke with her customary cocky smile.

Gwendolyn shot us both a look before walking off.

“You really think the Wardens are behind all of this?” I asked, shooting Hawke a sidelong look.

She sobered up some. “I don’t know, Varric. All I know is that I have a bad feeling about where this is all going.”

“Like Blondie all over again?” I asked warily.

Hawke shot me a look. “Not quite. I’m not sleeping with any of these Wardens.” 

\--- 

Gwendolyn was and is a very loyal person, but loyalty has its limits and Hawke’s revelation had seriously pushed Gwendolyn’s. From the battlements where she’d met me and Hawke, she headed down another stretch of battlements towards the command office. The walk there gave her just enough time to properly grow irritated over what she’d just heard. She wasn’t ready to be properly angry yet, but she was fully prepared to be if this conversion went the wrong way.

The door to Cullen’s office banged open and Cullen didn’t need to be a mind reader to tell that the Inquisitor’s meeting with Hawke hadn’t gone particularly _well_. Then again, Hawke had that effect on people. He had been standing over his desk, organizing troop movements on the map before him when she stormed in.

“Inquisitor,” said Cullen, likely worried that beginning a conversation with this woman in her present state was a bit like poking a sleeping bear.

Gwendolyn crossed her arms and looked out one of the windows in his office, not looking at him, but everything about her body language speaking of pent up anger that only grew by the moment. “So, I spoke with the Champion.”

“Did you? Did she have any insight on Corypheus?” asked Cullen.

“Only insofar as to theorize that the Wardens may now be involved. She has a Warden friend of hers looking into the matter and I am to meet both of them at Crestwood in two weeks to hear what this friend of hers has to say,” said Gwendolyn, still not looking at him.

“Maker’s Breath, the Wardens now too?” said Cullen tiredly.

“So it would seem, though I’m sure Blackwall will be no help on the matter. For a Warden, he seems oddly out of the loop with the rest of them,” said Gwendolyn.

“I will make the necessary arrangements and speak to Leliana about scouting the area prior to your arrival,” said Cullen as he began drafting the necessary paperwork.

“Of course, that’s not all that Hawke had to say,” said Gwendolyn.

“I’m certain you’re right,” snorted Cullen.

“Regrading my choice of advisors, chiefly,” said Gwendolyn stiffly.

Cullen looked at her, dreading to hear of the picture Hawke had undoubtedly painted of him based on his time in Kirkwall. Maker only knew that they had had their fair share of disagreements surrounding the templars and mages in the city. Though he _had _sided with her against Meredith in the end. It’s not as if he had been pushing to make all the mages in the Free Marches tranquil or anything. No, not even _Meredith_ had signed off on Sir Alric’s plans for that. But _still_.

Gwendolyn finally turned to face him. “Before I make a hasty decision that I may come to regret or overreact to something a third and clearly biased party made mention of, I have to ask. Did you ever say or suggest to the Champion that mages weren’t people like everyone else? And if you did, was it two or ten years ago? Do you still think that?”

She seemed conflicted, as if she couldn’t decide whether to be angry or hurt or to just shrug it off as nonsense. Whatever the exact reasoning, she was clearly upset, and Cullen knew that he needed to fix this before the best thing that had ever happened to him ended over something stupid he’d said years ago.

Cullen sighed heavily, the weight of his past settling on his shoulders and burdening him with shame and guilt. “I will not deny that my view of mages was once significantly worse than what it now is. If this is in reference to the conversation, I think it is, then you must understand that it was something like seven or eight years ago and I was…in a dark place. Given my experiences, I viewed mages with suspicion and contempt—a perception Meredith only encouraged in me. It took me years to change and see that the problem was with mages and templars alike, with each only encouraging the worst in the other. I was wrong to say what I did, and I regret my actions more than you realize.”

Gwendolyn nodded slowly, processing everything he’d just said. “And you no longer feel that way? If you mistrust mages, do you mistrust me?”

Cullen walked around his desk to carefully approach her. “No, Gwendolyn. I may recognize the threat that magic may pose, but I was wrong to view mages as I did. You are nothing like the darkness I once knew, and I trust you more than I trust myself.”

Gwendolyn slipped her arms around him and held him tightly, glad to have been proved at least mostly wrong. She knew that what Cullen had told her likely was only just beginning to scratch the surface of what he’d been through, but she wasn’t going to push him. He would tell her in his own time when he felt comfortable enough to share, and in the meantime, she would simply be content to know that he had overcome whatever tragedy lay in his past so that he might be with her in the here and now.


	17. Murky Water

It was raining in Crestwood when we arrived, and that was the good news. The bad news was that there was a rift under the lake that was causing undead to rise and attack the local village. Needless to say, this only continued our pattern of nothing going right when we needed it to. After all, why would things be easy? Why _wouldn’t _there be an army of the undead attacking the local town? It was, after all, a Wednesday.

It became immediately clear to us the moment we arrived at the Inquisition camp on the outskirts of town that something needed to be done about this undead situation before we could meet Hawke and her Warden friend. And so, Dorian, Blackwall, the Inquisitor, and I headed down the road, following signs for the village.

“If the rift is under the lake, how am I even supposed to get to it?” wondered Gwendolyn aloud.

“You mean, aside from wading into the water with all your armor on?” said Dorian.

“Exactly,” said Gwendolyn.

“Perhaps someone in the village will have an idea,” suggested Blackwall.

We walked down along the path and then came to a stop not far from a statue at a crossroads. Two Grey Wardens were there battling a number of the undead as a local elf woman cowered by the statue. The Wardens dispatched the undead in record time, so we didn’t even get the chance to help. Still, these were the first Wardens besides Blackwall we’d seen in a really long time, and that was beyond suspicious.

Gwendolyn approached them with us close behind. “Excuse me, sorry, you’re Grey Wardens?”

“We are, ma’am. Here under orders from Warden-Commander Clarel looking for someone,” said one of the Wardens.

“Who?” asked Gwendolyn.

“A Warden by the name of Stroud. Seen him lately?” asked the Warden.

“No, we haven’t,” said Gwendolyn.

“Neither have we,” said the second Warden.

“Will you stay and help? With the undead, that is?” asked Gwendolyn. 

“No, ma’am. We have strict orders to return if we haven’t found him,” said the first Warden.

Gwendolyn frowned, but nodded.

As the Wardens continued down the path away from us, the second one looked to the first. “Are you sure we can’t stay?”

“Warden-Commander Clarel was clear on our orders,” said the first firmly.

“But all these people…” trailed off the second.

“I know. I want to help too, but we don’t have a choice,” said the first.

We headed down the road to the village.

“So, they were after Hawke’s Warden friend, I assume. Do you think they have anything to do with the undead being here? Or what’s been going on?” asked Gwendolyn.

“They’re either uninvolved or excellent actors,” I said.

“They didn’t strike me as particularly talented liars,” said Dorian.

“Innocent, then,” I said.

“Not innocent, but at least not read in on everything, I would guess,” said Gwendolyn.

We continued on our way down the road towards the town in the driving rain, our boots squelching in the mud and feeling like drowned rats. Our misery only increased upon finding the town, at which point it became clear that the undead were attacking. Needless to say, we joined in the fight immediately, defeating the undead effortlessly. The locals manning the gate thanked us and sent us up the hill through the town to the mayor’s house.

We found the mayor, as instructed, in his house pacing nervously. He looked up as we entered and began thanking us prematurely. “The Inquisition. Thank the Maker. Are you here to help with the undead?”

“We are. They’re likely rising because of the rift in the lake. Where did they all come from?” asked Gwendolyn.

“From Old Crestwood. Darkspawn flooded the town during the Blight. Killed everyone who couldn’t escape. I expect the undead are the remains of those who died then,” explained the mayor.

“Darkspawn did that?” said Dorian in surprise.

“Then we need to dredge the lake to get to the rift. Is there any way to do that?” asked Gwendolyn.

“Dredge the—” began the mayor in alarm. He cleared his throat. “I suppose that could work. But the dam controls are in the old keep, and that’s been taken over by bandits. You’ll have to weed out the bandits to get to them.”

“We are helping these people, right?” I asked, just to make sure.

“Of course we are. Where is this keep?” asked Gwendolyn.

“Just down the way. Caer Bronach. Can’t miss it,” said the mayor.

Gwendolyn nodded and we left the house.

“Not to complain but are we truly to take an entire keep on our own?” said Dorian.

“Can’t be any worse than killing a dragon,” reasoned Gwendolyn.

“At least you’re wearing armor, right, Inquisitor?” leered Dorian.

“Don’t you start,” said Gwendolyn.

We continued down the road and came face to face with an imposing stone structure—Caer Bronach. And so, bracing ourselves for the battle to come, Gwendolyn cast barriers over all of us and then we plunged into battle.

You know, you’d think that taking a keep would be difficult. A massive structure like that, you’d think that it would be crawling with bandits. But it wasn’t. In fact, it was such a big place that the bandits were stretched thin throughout and we had a pretty easy time picking them off. In no time at all we had the bandits defeated and we’d claimed the keep for ourselves. And by for ourselves, I mean for the Inquisition.

But as great as claiming a keep was, we had more pressing matters to attend to. It took a few tries, but we managed to find the door that led to the outer bridge that led to an oddly placed tavern. Yes, I know, a tavern, of all things. Don’t ask me why Crestwood kept their dam controls in a tavern accessible only through an old keep. We’re just as baffled as you are, dear reader.

The old damp tavern was largely devoid of life, save for a young couple who for some reason thought that the place qualified as a lovers’ retreat. Needless to say, the arrival of the Inquisitor and her companions scared them off. The dam controls were in the room just behind the bar, so it was actually fairly simple to open the dam and dredge the lake. The loud rumble that accompanied it let us know that it had worked, and when we headed back outside, we could see the fruits of our labor. Still, it begged the question: just how did _darkspawn_ manage to do this? They weren’t exactly renowned for their creativity or dam control finding ability…

The water level had dropped roughly thirty feet, shifting the shoreline back substantially, and revealing an entire town near the new, smaller lake. But if we thought that was surprising, the screech of a dragon as a great purple one flew overhead took the cake.

“Oh, you have _got _to be kidding me!” complained Gwendolyn.

“We’re not fighting that, are we?” I asked.

“Not if we can help it,” replied Gwendolyn.

Luckily, the dragon flew off into the hills, nice and far away from the town. Unluckily, Old Crestwood was clearly visible, and so was a cave entrance to a subterranean level.

It was an odd, eerie, murky hike along the lakeshore to the tunnel entrance. As if creepy old houses and the undead weren’t bad enough, spirits floated around, whispering and wailing. Most of the houses were old and decrepit, falling apart after a decade underwater. But not all of them were entirely destroyed. In fact, the mayor’s old house was still there, not far from the tunnel entrance.

On a hunch, Gwendolyn hiked the stairs and headed into the mayor’s house. We followed after, seeing as there could be just about anything hiding inside. Of course, it turned out that dirt, grime, and waterlogged ruins were the only things really left inside. Well, expect for a small box on the dresser. That was still there. As were the papers still inside.

“Why are we here, exactly?” asked Blackwall.

“The mayor was acting suspicious,” I said simply.

Gwendolyn retrieved a letter from the box and her eyes grew wide. “Damp, but still legible. It…says that some of the local townspeople had gotten the blight. And the sick were quarantined to stop the spread of infection.”

“Wardens justify anything to stop the Blight. This seems reasonable,” said Blackwall.

Gwendolyn nodded slowly. This whole affair wasn’t sitting well with her. She set down the paper and headed out the door. “Let’s just go close that rift. This isn’t the only task we have to accomplish today.”

We left the mayor’s house and headed into the tunnels, which, if possible, were even more dark and dank than the old town had been. Spirits floated around and the smell of decay was pungent. Old sconces dotted the walls and our mages lit them as we walked along, providing us a bit of light. But as we descended the rickety old stairs deeper into the tunnels, it began to become clear that something was off.

There were skeletons in the tunnels. But more than that, there was evidence that people had been living there: bedrolls, chests, pots, old cups. Clearly, something terrible had happened here. Still, it wasn’t until we got to the third of the lower levels that the true tragedy of it all became apparent. Hidden in a corner with a number of skeletons and broken beds, we found old camping materials and scratch marks on the walls.

“This is terrible,” said Blackwall.

“Claw marks on the walls…these people must have been here when the town was flooded,” said Dorian.

Gwendolyn took a deep breath and pressed her eyes closed. “The blight victims. They were taken into the tunnels and the town was flooded while they were trapped inside.”

“Never stood a chance,” I said.

“They had the blight. They were to die anyway,” said Dorian flippantly.

“It’s barbaric. Come on, let’s close that rift,” said Gwendolyn.

We continued to descend down the stairs, only to be spat out into an old Dwarven ruin, which was miraculously still alight. Dorian was amazed, wanting to stop and study the ruins, but Gwendolyn was a woman on a mission as she stormed down the halls, her hand beginning to spark with proximity to the rift.

The rift wasn’t exactly hard to find down there in the ruin. The glowing green light coming out of a massive side room was really just a dead giveaway. As were the demons pouring out of said room. It was almost refreshing to fight demons again after all of the undead we’d been seeing as of late. Fighting demons and closing a Fade rift seemed almost like business as usual.

The rift closed, it was fair to assume that the undead problem would be solved, so we headed back topside. When we arrived back aboveground, the spirits were gone and the undead had stopped rising. That, at least, was a relief. What was less of a relief was the scene we found when we got back to the new Crestwood. Namely, the mayor had up and disappeared, leaving behind a note. And what did that note say? That it had been the mayor, not the darkspawn who had flooded Old Crestwood during the Blight. It had been an effort to stop the infection from spreading to the healthy townspeople…but at what cost?

Gwendolyn left the town with a bad taste in her mouth. All of this tragedy and madness, and in the end, no proper closure or neat ending. It was too messy for her liking. Which, naturally, meant that it was time to go find Hawke.

We found Hawke standing at the mouth of a cavern by the edge of a pond near the western road out of Crestwood.

“Ah, Inquisitor. I’ve just arrived myself. Nasty business around here,” said Hawke.

“Don’t remind me. We even ran into two Wardens looking for a man named Stroud. I don’t suppose that’s your friend?” said Gwendolyn.

Hawke made a sour face and nodded stiffly. “This whole affair smells worse than Kirkwall Harbor. Let’s go, Inquisitor. I’ll introduce you to my friend. He can hopefully provide some insight into the situation.”

We headed down the tunnel, past obsidian deposits, through a wooden smuggler’s door, and into a small cavern that was clearly serving as a hideout. Bedrolls were hidden out of sight, but there was a table strewn with all matters of maps and plans that clearly had been worried over. Gwendolyn was the first to enter the room, looking around to find no one there. It was the whisper of a sword leaving its sheath that alerted her to another person and she turned around to see a proud Orlesian Warden with a bushy mustache glaring down his sword at her, the silverite blade gleaming in the firelight.

Hawke hurried in after her. “It’s just us. I brought the Inquisitor.”

Stroud lowered his sword. “My name is Stroud. I am at your service, Inquisitor.”

“I’ll take all the help I can get. I know the Wardens likely have troubles of their own,” said Gwendolyn. “I wonder, though. Might those troubles have anything to do with Corypheus?”

“I fear it is so. When my friend Hawke slew Corypheus, Weisshaupt was happy to put the matter to rest. But an Archdemon can survive wounds that seem fatal, and I feared that Corypheus might possess the same power,” said Stroud as he strode over to the table of plans. “My investigation uncovered clues, but no proof. Not long after that, every Warden in Orlais began to hear the Calling.”

“Maker, why didn’t you tell me?” asked Hawke in alarm.

“It was a Grey Warden matter. I was bound by an oath of secrecy,” said Stroud evasively.

“Forgive me for not knowing this, but is the Calling some sort of Grey Warden ritual?” asked Gwendolyn.

“The Calling tells a Warden that the Blight will soon claim him. Starts with dreams. Then come whispers in his head. The Warden says his farewells and then goes to the Deep Roads to meet his death in combat,” explained Stroud.

“And every Grey Warden in Orlais is hearing that right now? They think they’re dying?” asked Hawke in alarm. Her mind was far from the Grey Wardens of Orlais and firmly on Anders and Carver.

“Yes, likely because of Corypheus,” said Stroud. “If the Wardens fall, who will stand against the next Blight? That is our greatest fear.”

“So Corypheus isn’t controlling them, he’s bluffing them with this Calling, and they’re falling for it,” said Hawke.

“Is this Calling real? Or is Corypheus manipulating it somehow?” asked Gwendolyn.

“That I do not know. Even as a senior Warden I have heard only the vaguest whispers of Corypheus. The Wardens believe that this Calling is real, and they will act accordingly. That is all we know for certain,” said Stroud.

“You said all the Wardens were hearing it. Does that include you?” asked Gwendolyn. She glanced behind her. “And you, Blackwall?”

“Sadly, yes. It lurks like a wolf in the shadows around a campfire,” said Stroud. “The creature that makes this music has never known the love of the Maker but…at times, I almost understand it. We must uncover what Corypheus has done and find it. This cannot stand.”

“I do not fear the Calling and worrying about it only gives it power. Anything Corypheus does will only strengthen my resolve,” said Blackwall with a sniff.

“How can Corypheus make all these Wardens hear the Calling?” asked Gwendolyn.

“I cannot say. We know little about him, save that he is dangerous. He is a magister, as well as a darkspawn—and speaks with the voice of the Blight. That lets him affect the minds of Wardens, since we are tied to the Blight ourselves. It must be how he created this false Calling,” explained Stroud.

“So, the Wardens think they’re dying and have stopped thinking clearly. That won’t go well,” said Gwendolyn.

“We are the only ones who can slay Archdemons. Without us, the next Blight will consume the world,” said Stroud, clearly distraught. “Warden-Commander Clarel spoke of a blood magic ritual to prevent future Blights before we all perished. When I protested the plan as madness, my comrades turned on me.”

Hawke’s expression darkened.

Stroud gestured towards the map of Thedas on the table. “Grey Wardens are gathering here, in the Western Approach. It is an ancient Tevinter ritual tower. Meet me there, and we will find answers.”

As Stroud went to go gather his things, and the rest of us stood processing all of this, Gwendolyn followed after the Warden to ask him further questions.

“We should get to the ritual tower in the Western Approach as soon as possible, Your Worship,” said Stroud.

“Clarel’s the Warden-Commander, right? What’s she like?” asked Gwendolyn.

“She was a good Warden…once. She was among those King Cailan reached out to before the Blight. She always resented missing the chance to help. When the Calling came, Clarel stopped listening to the rest of us. Only magic could solve this problem, she said,” said Stroud distastefully.

“Do you think Corypheus is using the Calling to control her?” asked Gwendolyn.

“It is hard to say. I have heard the whispers of the Calling myself, but it is only noise, no words. Certainly no commands. Either way the guilt is hers. As Warden-Commander, she should bow to no one’s word but Weisshaupt’s,” said Stroud firmly.

“What’s it like, being a Warden? I can’t even imagine,” said Gwendolyn.

Stroud smiled lightly. “It’s been a long time since I was anything else. It becomes your life: searching out darkspawn, killing them, ensuring no one ever knows how close they are.”

“Corypheus was in a Warden prison, right? So, you must know _something_ about him,” said Gwendolyn.

“I know little, and that much only because of my relative seniority. Most Wardens have never heard of him,” said Stroud. “When I suggested that Corypheus might have something to do with the Calling, the Warden mages turned on me. I trained some of those Wardens myself. If I knew more of Corypheus, I would share it, Your Worship.”

After a moment’s pause, Gwendolyn asked, “You said that Clarel was Warden-Commander, but I thought the Hero of Ferelden led the Wardens?”

“There is more than one Warden-Commander. Each oversees a region, most often a single nation. The woman you speak of was Warden-Commander of Ferelden, as well as queen consort to Alistair. She disappeared some time ago. It is possible that she has joined the other Wardens, although I cannot say for certain,” said Stroud. He seemed doubtful.

Gwendolyn nodded pensively. This was a lot to think about. “Thank you, Stroud. We have a lot of work ahead of us, but I thank you for taking this risk to help us.”

Stroud nodded.

Gwendolyn shifted her staff up on her shoulder and headed towards the exit, nodding to Hawke in acknowledgment. “Let’s get word of all this back to Skyhold. There’s a lot left to do.”

“Leaving already, are we?” said Dorian.

“We’re taking care of that dragon first,” said Gwendolyn.

Blackwall, Dorian, and I all groaned.

“Do cheer up, Varric. At least it’s not the Bone Pit,” said Hawke with a smirk.


	18. Blood and Sand

The Western Approach had to be one of the worst places in all of Thedas, even worse than the Hissing Wastes. It was at least moderately _cool_ in the Hissing Wastes. Sure, the Hissing Wastes were stupidly big and empty and sure there are wyverns and huge spiders everywhere, but you know what the Hissing Wastes _don’t_ have? Darkspawn. The Western Approach is what would happen if the Hissing Wastes, the Tevinter Imperium, and the Deep Roads had a demon baby. Yeah, that’s the Western Approach.

We’d only just arrived and already everyone involved was miserable. The sand and blistering heat would have been bad enough without all the quillbacks, coyotes, Venatori, and darkspawn trying to get us. Harding had warned us that it might just be the worst place in the world, and damn was she right.

“How sure are we that this Stroud fellow wasn’t pulling our leg about this old Warden fortress, hmm? Because I am beginning to feel that all there is here is sand and things that want to kill us. And _I _am much too pretty and important to die out here in a disgusting desert,” proclaimed Dorian as we trudged along the edge of a canyon.

Right on cue, as if she was just waiting in the wings to make her big entrance, a high dragon swooped down across the canyon and flew off into the distance towards the sulfur pits.

Dorian, Sera, the Inquisitor, and I all stood in horror, seeing as exactly none of us were looking forward to fighting _yet another_ high dragon. The Iron Bull, on the other hand, was ecstatic.

“Awesome. Boss, we’re going to kill it, right? _Please_ tell me we’re going to kill it,” said the Iron Bull eagerly, the bloodlust practically radiating off of him.

“Maker’s Breath, of course there’s another damn dragon,” grumbled the Inquisitor.

“This place just got a whole lot better,” decided Iron Bull.

“We’re staying away from that thing, right?” said Sera, eyeing the Inquisitor suspiciously.

“Knowing our luck? Probably not,” said Gwendolyn as she soldiered along the canyon.

“So, it would seem that in addition to Venatori, darkspawn, and the local wildlife trying to kill us, we can now add a dragon. How lovely,” said Dorian.

“Let’s focus on the Venatori at the moment. Honestly, they might be the least annoying to deal with,” said Gwendolyn.

We turned a corner and came face to face with what looked like the remnants of an ambush. A covered wagon had been turned over and raided of its supplies, a dead body in Orlesian clothes lay propped up against the side, and there was blood everywhere.

“Well…shit,” I said.

“Who would do this? Venatori?” wondered Gwendolyn as we investigated the scene.

“What is anyone even doing out here to begin with?” said Dorian.

“Sodding piss buckets, let’s go home,” said Sera.

The Inquisitor ignored her, examining the body instead. “This man was killed by magic. It must have been the Venatori.”

“Harding said they might be hiding in an old mine,” I said.

Iron Bull nodded up the hill at a barely visible cave entrance. “Up there.”

“Let’s go,” said Gwendolyn.

We trudged up the hill, which thankfully seemed to be mostly solid, and came to a rough path. With the Inquisitor leading the way, we hurried along the dimly lit tunnel deep into the mountain. We all knew where this was going. Really, when was the last time we’d ever been in a cave that _didn’t _have enormous spiders that were trying to kill us? It would really just be the icing on the cake for the day to have spiders to worry about. Not to mention, the Venatori.

Sure enough, we encountered both in the mine, along with the missing travelers’ supplies. Oh, but that wasn’t all, because in the very middle of the cavern was a massive growth of red lyrium, and the answer to where the travelers had gone.

The Western Approach really might just be the worst place in the world.

\---

It was painfully sunny the next morning when we set out for the fortress. At the very least, it wasn’t late enough in the day for it to be disgustingly hot, but it certainly wasn’t cool. It made the walk south to the fortress marginally less awful, but only marginally so. It wasn’t particularly difficult to find. Perched on a rock that seemed almost like an island floating in the abyss, the fortress was a glowing testament to ancient Tevinter architecture and just how bad their architects’ tastes were.

It wasn’t yet midday when we arrived, but even from a distance we could see Hawke and Stroud standing by the bridge leading out to the fort, which was really less of a fort and more like a ceremonial platform. And even from a distance, the sounds coming from that fort were nothing short of sickening and unpleasant.

“Inquisitor, Varric, Others—welcome to the Western Approach. Lovely place, isn’t? Just makes you want to build a summer home,” said Hawke. 

“I’m glad you made it, Inquisitor. I fear they’ve already started the ritual,” said Stroud.

“It has to be blood magic. I hope we can stop them before more people get hurt. Whenever you’re ready, Inquisitor,” said Hawke.

A blood curdling scream emanated from the fortress and Gwendolyn took off at a dead sprint across the bridge with the rest of us fast at her heels. We came to a stop in front of a gruesome scene and the Warden pushed his way forward to stand to the right of the Inquisitor. A pile of dead Warden warriors stood off to the side of the fort’s main platform, bloody and ragged. A series of Warden mages with demons at their sides stood on either side of the courtyard unseeingly, eyes glowing red, rigid and arranged systematically. The most recent Warden sacrifice was being dragged off toward the pile by two of the mages as the latest mage and his new rage demon walked over to take his part in the formation. And standing above it all was a Tevinter magister, a greasy looking bastard with sickly white skin, cold grey eyes, and bloodstone armor.

“Ah, Inquisitor. What an unexpected pleasure. Lord Livius Erimond of Vyrantium, at your service,” said the magister with a dramatic bow.

“You are no Warden,” said Stroud furiously.

“But you are,” said the magister in disgust as his eyes shifted from Stroud to Gwendolyn. “The one Clarel let slip. You found the Inquisitor and came to stop me. Shall we see how that goes?”

“I’ve already seen how this goes. Admittedly, I was beginning to wonder where the whole demon army came from,” said Gwendolyn.

That seemed to startle the magister, but only for a moment. “You knew about it, did you? Well, now you have your answer. Sadly for the Wardens, the binding ritual I taught them has a side effect. Now they’re my master’s slaves. See? Wardens, hands up!”

The assembled Warden mages all raised their hands.

“And hands down,” said the magister.

The Wardens lowered their hands.

“Corypheus has taken their minds,” said Stroud.

The magister sneered as he looked back over at us. “They did this to themselves. You see, the Calling had the Wardens terrified. They looked _everywhere _for help.”

“Even Tevinter,” said Stroud.

“Yes. And since it was my master who put the Calling into their little heads, we in the Venatori were prepared. I went to Clarel full of sympathy, and together, we came up with a plan: raise a demon army, march into the Deep Roads, and kill the Old Gods before they wake” said the magister.

“No more Blights. Ever. The Wardens sacrifice their lives and save the world. Although I fear history will remember them a little differently now,” said the magister.

“Why would Clarel risk using demons?” asked Gwendolyn.

“Demons need no food, no healing. Once bound, they will never retreat, never question orders. They are the perfect army to fight through the Deep Roads. Or across Orlais, now that they are bound to my master,” said the magister.

“So Corypheus made them do this?” said Gwendolyn.

The magister laughed. “Made them? No! Everything you see here? The blood sacrifices to bind the demons? The Wardens did it of their own free will. Fear is a very good motivator, and they were very afraid. You should have seen Clarel agonize over the decision. Burden of command, I suppose.”

“Do you really want to see the world fall to the Blight? Just what do you get out of this?” demanded Gwendolyn.

“The Elder One commands the Blight. He is not commanded _by _it, like the mindless darkspawn. The Blight is not unstoppable or uncontrollable; it is merely a tool,” said the magister.

“Someone’s certainly a tool,” I said under my breath.

Beside me, Sera snorted.

“As for me, while the Elder One rules from the Golden City, we, the Venatori, will be his god-kings here in the world,” said the magister.

“You think you can stand against me with just demons and a Fade rift?” scoffed Gwendolyn. “Did Corypheus not mention what I did to the Breach?”  
“He did. He also mentioned what he did to you at Haven,” said the magister.

He held out his hand, glowing with red magic and Gwendolyn crumpled, clutching her glowing green arm in pain. “The Elder One showed me how to deal with you, in the event you were foolish enough to interfere again. That mark you bear? That anchor that allows you to pass through the Veil? You stole that from my master. He’s had to find other ways to go about it.”

Gwendolyn struggled to get back to her feet, but did so, leveling her hand slowly at him as he continued his monologue.

“When I bring him your head, his gratitude will be—”

The magister didn’t get a chance to finish. The discharge from the anchor blasted him backward and stopped his speech in his tracks. He took a few seconds to get to his feet and hobble off, clutching his side in pain. “Kill them, Wardens!”

With that, the Warden mages and their demons attacked, with most going straight for the Inquisitor. But the two dozen Warden mages and their demons were facing too many of us to be a proper threat. There were eight of us, after all, and each of us was more than equal to these controlled Wardens. Dorian was a mage, so he hung back and acted as support. The Inquisitor, never a mage to shy away from the thick of things, was right there with the rest of us as Sera and I rained arrows and bolts down on the demons and Bull sliced them in half with his axe. Hawke, fearsome defeater of Arishocks, templars, and blood mages alike, moved with all the speed and dexterity of the roguish mage she was, darting out of the enemy’s reach and reducing them ash. Stroud fought with a sword and shield, appearing the perfect warrior and everything and a Grey Warden was supposed to be.

The battle over, everything became very, very still, and very, very quiet.

“They refused to listen to reason,” said Hawke as she approached Stroud and Gwendolyn

“You were correct. Through their ritual, the mages are slaves to Corypheus,” said Stroud sadly.

“And the Warden warriors?” asked Hawke. Hawke closed her eyes and took a breath. “Of course. Sacrificed in the ritual. What a waste.”

“Human sacrifice? Demon summoning? Who looks at this and thinks it’s a good idea?” exclaimed Gwendolyn.

“The fearful and the foolish,” said Hawke tiredly.

“The Wardens were wrong, Hawke, but they had their reasons,” said Stroud. 

That struck a chord.

“All blood mages have their reasons,” said Hawke, glaring at Stroud. “Everyone has a story they tell themselves to justify bad decisions and it never matters.”

Stroud, clearly outnumbered, turned to the Inquisitor. “I believe I know where the Wardens are, Your Worship. Erimond fled in that direction.”

“There’s an abandoned Warden fortress that way. Adamant,” said Hawke.

Stroud nodded.

“I want these Wardens. We cannot let Corypheus gain an army of demons,” said Gwendolyn.

“Stroud and I will scout out Adamant Fortress and confirm that the Wardens are there. We’ll meet you back at Skyhold,” said Hawke.

With that, Hawke and Stroud walked off, presumably to head off on their scouting mission. 

In the meantime, Gwendolyn turned her attention to the rest of us. “There’s a keep just over the rise there—Griffon Wing Keep. The Venatori presently have control of it, but I happen to think it might make a nice stop on the way to Adamant for our people. Shall we take it from them?”

“Let’s,” said Sera eagerly.

“Then we’re going after that dragon, right, Boss?” said Iron Bull.

Gwendolyn looked tired at the very thought. “Yes, Bull, then we can see about the dragon.”

\---

Our arrival back at Skyhold was met with an excessive flurry of activity, even more than usual. We’d no sooner crossed the bridge and passed through the main gates than we were set upon by half the Inquisition, complete with all the advisors.

The Commander was there, helping the Inquisitor off her horse, stumbling his way through welcoming her back, telling her that he’d missed her, and fussing over her safety. The Inquisitor, in turn, all but melted into her commander’s arms, glad to once more be enveloped by his warmth and protection and to for the first time know what it was to feel like coming home. 

The rest of us were largely left to our own devices, but not entirely alone. You see, the Seeker was there, and of if she was _beyond _furious with me. You see, she’d interrogated me about Hawke’s whereabouts when all of this was first happening. And I had said that I didn’t know where she was…and yet…

The Seeker slammed me against a table on the second floor of the armory. “You knew where Hawke was all along and still you kept her from us!”

“You’re damn right I did!” I said as I hurried away from her.

“You conniving little shit!” exclaimed Cassandra as she took a swing at me and missed.

I ran around a table to escape from her. “You kidnapped me! You interrogated me! What did you expect?!”

Gwendolyn—having been told that something was amiss—chose that moment to enter the scene and intervene. “Hey! That’s enough!”

“You’re taking his side?!” balked Cassandra.

“I said enough!” snapped Gwendolyn angrily.

“We needed someone to lead this Inquisition. First, Leliana and I searched for the Hero of Ferelden, but she had vanished. Then we looked for Hawke, but she was gone too. We thought they were connected, but no, it was just _you_. _You_ kept her from us,” spat Cassandra as she glared daggers at me.

“The Inquisition _has _a leader,” I said.

“Hawke would have been at the Conclave. If anyone could have saved Most Holy,” began Cassandra.

Gwendolyn winced at the Seeker’s mild vote of no confidence. “Varric’s not responsible for what happened at the Conclave.”

“I was protecting my friend!” I said.

“Varric is a liar, Inquisitor. A snake. Even after the Conclave, when we needed Hawke most, Varric kept her secret,” said Cassandra.

“She’s with us now. We’re on the same side!” I argued.

“We all know whose side you’re on, Varric. And it will never be the Inquisition’s,” said Cassandra.

“Attacking him now won’t help us, Cassandra. What’s done is done,” said Gwendolyn.

“Ha! Exactly!” I said.

She turned to me next. “And you better not be keeping anything else important from us.”

“Gah, I understand,” I allowed.

Cassandra deflated slightly and went to go rest her arms on a table, not looking at either of us. “I must not think of what could have been. We have so much at stake. Go, Varric. Just…go.”

I made to take my leave of them then, but paused at the door to say, “You know what I think? If Hawke had been at the Conclave, she’d be dead too. You people have done enough to her.”

Cassandra sighed and turned to the Inquisitor. “I _believed_ him. He spun his story for me and I swallowed it. If I’d just explained what was at stake, if I’d just made him understand…but I didn’t, did I? I didn’t explain why we needed Hawke. I’m such a fool.”

“You’re not a fool, Cassandra. But honestly? What if you hadn’t believed him and tracked Hawke down?” said Gwendolyn.

“Honestly, Hawke might not have even agreed to become Inquisitor,” admitted Cassandra. “She supported the mage rebellion, after all. She wouldn’t have trusted me for a second. But this isn’t about Hawke, or even Varric. Not truly. I should have been more careful. I should have been smarter. I don’t deserve to be here.”

Gwendolyn looked at her like she had six heads. “Have you looked at our Inquisition, Cassandra? We’re all fools here.”

Cassandra laughed lightly. “Is that supposed to make me feel better?”

“More at home, maybe,” said Gwendolyn.

“I want you to know, I have no regrets. Maybe if we’d found Hawke or the Hero of Ferelden, the Maker wouldn’t have needed to send you. But he did. You’re not what I’d pictured, but if I’ve learned anything, it’s that I know less than nothing,” said Cassandra.

The Inquisitor came and found me later and we ironed out the details. All in all, this hadn’t been a bad thing. Now that Cassandra had gotten that out of her system and…what I’d done for Hawke had come to light, things were actually better. Oddly, we’d somehow emerged as stronger from all that. And maybe, just maybe, this had worked out all right.

Which, I mean, was good, seeing as things were about to become very much _not _all right.

\---

Ever with impeccable timing and a knack for adding more trouble to an already messy situation, Hawke arrived a few days later from her scouting mission to Adamant with Warden Stroud. Only, in true Hawke fashion, they’d brought along a complication. Namely, they’d managed to bring another Warden with them. And oh, did this not bode well.

The Inquisitor and her advisors were in a war council meeting when the three of them arrived. Hawke was not a particularly patient woman, nor did she give two shits about the sanctity of the war council meeting or the war room, so rather than politely waiting for the lot of them to finish up discussing whatever Inquisition business they were discussing, she did precisely what she was known for doing: she unceremoniously barged in and dragged the two Wardens along with her.

“…The previously unknown road out of the Fallow Mire would be perfect for my spies. We will have a northern and southern route out of Ferelden now, all unknown to outside sources,” Nightingale was saying.

“And I still disagree. You have your northern route already with Caer Bronach,” said Cullen.

“The merchants could use this new road. It would certainly help to improve trade here at Skyhold, as well as fill our coffers,” suggested Josephine.

“Merchants have their supply routes, but our men will move faster and safer along that route compared to trudging through the Frostbacks. It will save us time, resources, _and _men,” argued Cullen.

“The commerce we would have from merchants along the road would more than make up for it,” countered Josephine.

“We are a _military _organization; we must put our soldiers first,” said Cullen.

“Could you not, I don’t know, _share _the road?” said Gwendolyn tiredly. 

It was at that moment that Hawke slammed open the door and strolled in like she owned the place, coming to stand beside the Inquisitor at the war table, followed by Stroud and the newcomer, who found other positions around the table.

“Have you ever heard of knocking?” asked Gwendolyn bluntly.

“Yes, I can tell you were _very _busy talking about roads. Highly top-secret business, that. Anyway, I have news,” announced Hawke. She nodded to the newcomer. “Or rather, he does.”

The new Warden was a reasonably tall man in his mid-thirties with shoulder length black hair that had been partially pulled back. He had grey eyes the same shade as the clouds along the Storm Coast, a semi-permanent frown, and a rather large nose. In addition to his Warden armor, he had a rather old, ornate bow strapped to his back that looked as if it had seen a great many battles through the years, likely his constant companion. The Warden seemed reasonably annoyed by absolutely everything that was happening around him, standing there with his arms crossed and glowering at no one and nothing in particular.

“And you are…?” prompted Gwendolyn.

“Warden-Constable Nathaniel Howe of Ferelden,” said the new Warden, his accent was posh and unmistakably Fereldan.

Leliana seemed surprised by this, or as surprised as she ever looked.

“We bumped into him as we were scouting Adamant. It would seem that Clarel, Erimond, and that demon army aren’t the only things we need to look out for at Adamant,” said Hawke.

“You’re Flora’s second,” said Leliana..

“I understand that you have been looking for Warden-Commander Cousland given her apparent disappearance,” said Nathaniel.

“Have you made contact? Do you know where she is?” asked Leliana urgently.

“That was why I was at Adamant. Cousland keeps in constant contact with extremely few reliably, but I understand that you, Fergus Cousland, King Alistair, and I all lost contact at roughly the same time. When that happened, I had two of them politely _request_ that I go track the idiot down. Which I did. Finally. To Adamant,” explained Nathaniel.

“The Hero of Ferelden is at Adamant?” said Gwendolyn in surprise.

“She’s joined the other Wardens?” said Leliana in disbelief.

Nathaniel looked at her. “Not hardly. The Wardens are holding her prisoner there. They intercepted all of her letters, tracked her down, and stuffed her in a cell, likely to the end of some grand plan of theirs.”

“So not only are these Wardens apparently planning blood magic and to create a demon army, but I do believe kidnapping the Queen of Ferelden is a highly frowned upon course of action, even for Orlesians,” said Hawke.

“Why would the Wardens want to kidnap the Hero of Ferelden?” asked Josephine in bewilderment. 

“I was able to infiltrate the fortress briefly and do a bit of digging. They’re keeping her in a practically impenetrable dungeon, but for some reason had no qualms about leaving her belongings out in the open. They seemed to still be going through her letters with a fine-tooth comb, presumably looking for clues. Though what they hoped to find in the dozens of letters from King Alistair outlining how much he misses her, beyond that they apparently have a very loving marriage, I have no idea. As for _why _they want her, the purpose seems to be two-fold: the Archdemon and the Architect,” said Nathaniel.

“Because she did not die?” said Leliana.

“What?” asked Gwendolyn in confusion.

“Exactly,” said Nathaniel. He turned to the Inquisitor. “Only a Grey Warden can kill an Archdemon because we have tainted blood as well as souls. When a Warden deals the killing blow, the Archdemon’s essence transfers to the Warden, but because Wardens have souls, the soul and the essence destroy one another, and both die.”

“But the Hero of Ferelden is still alive,” said Gwendolyn, looking at Leliana in confusion. “How?”

Leliana shook her head lightly. “I cannot say.”

“Cannot or will not?” frowned Gwendolyn.

Leliana just looked at her.

“Weisshaupt does not know either, given that the official response was just King Alistair shrugging and saying that it was probably some sort of magic. Cousland’s about as helpful when you ask her, but she _did _kill it and the Blight _did _end, so clearly, they found some sort of loophole. The problem is that it’s an exploitable loophole for her enemies, of which Cousland has absolutely no short supply. I understand this Erimond fellow fed Clarel and the Wardens some line about her still having the Archdemon inside of her, or some other such nonsense,” said Nathaniel.

“Wonderful,” said Gwendolyn.

“It gets better. Tell her about the Architect,” said Hawke.

“I was getting there,” snapped Nathaniel.

“Not very quickly. The Archdemon is just an excuse this Architect business is the real reason and you know it,” said Hawke.

“Who is the Architect?” asked Gwendolyn in exasperation.

Nathaniel shot Hawke a scathing look before addressing the Inquisitor. “Another darkspawn magister. About a year after the Blight ended, there was darkspawn activity in Amaranthine, which King Alistair had so _graciously _donated to the Wardens after the Blight.”

“His family used to own it, but his father murdered the Couslands and helped Teyrn Loghain hunt the Hero of Ferelden and Friends during the Blight. She killed him just before the infamous Landsmeet. It’s still a sore point,” said Hawke.

“Oh my,” said Josephine in shock.

If Nightingale’s expression was anything to go by, Arl Howe had deserved everything that he got and more.

“_Moving on_, the darkspawn were attacking Amaranthine. Hawke only knows as much as she does because Anders blabbed about it. As it turned out, there were two warring factions of darkspawn involved, one led by an intelligent broodmother called the Mother and the other led by the Architect. The lot of us spent months running around Amaranthine trying to piece it all together, but it turned out that the Architect was one of the original darkspawn magisters—specifically, the Architect of the Works of Beauty, the High Priest of Urthemiel. The Architect had been experimenting with Grey Warden blood as a means to create intelligent darkspawn, which is where the Mother came from, as well as the numerous talking darkspawn we kept running into. Came to find out that he also started the Fifth Blight by waking up Urthemiel in the Deep Roads,” explained Nathaniel.

“There was another darkspawn magister besides Corypheus running around almost ten years ago and no one ever found out?” said Gwendolyn in shock.

“We killed him and, unlike what happened with Hawke, this one stuck,” said Nathaniel.

“Corypheus _was _dead when I killed him,” said Hawke irritably.

“Like Corypheus, it was considered an internal Grey Warden matter,” said Stroud. “Added to that, only a handful of people even survived Amaranthine to tell about it.”

“Really?” said Gwendolyn.

“_Well_, Anders faked his death, only to reappear later in Kirkwall possessed by Justice until he blew up a chantry and Hawke ran away with him, Velanna went off into the Deep Roads to find her sister, Sigrun returned to the Deep Roads and took her Calling early, and Oghren stayed on for a while, but eventually returned to raise his daughter. Even named her Flora after Cousland, oddly enough. And of course Cousland bolted back to Denerim and washed her hands of the Wardens at the absolute first opportunity,” said Nathaniel.

“As I said, it was kept an internal Warden matter and only the most senior Wardens were aware of what transpired. Ferelden at the time was such a mess, and Weisshaupt was using Amaranthine as something of a test project, and so it was all kept as confidential as possible,” said Stroud.

“Hmm, yes, ‘the most senior Wardens’, when not a single one of us had been in the Wardens more than two years,” said Nathaniel.

“Outside of Ferelden, at the time,” said Stroud.

“Inside of Ferelden, King Alistair was technically the most senior Warden,” said Nathaniel.

“He left the Order under special circumstances,” said Stroud.

“Did he now? I can’t imagine how that escaped my notice,” said Nathaniel impatiently.

“How were you able to defeat the Architect so easily if Coypheus is all but immortal?” asked Gwendolyn.

“I expect that has to do more with Corypheus specifically than darkspawn magisters in general. That’s also likely why the Wardens in the Free Marches had him jailed rather than just killing him outright,” said Nathaniel.

“That does not help us defeat Corypheus, however,” said Josephine.

“No, but I very much doubt that Flora has been sitting in a cell doing nothing all this time. She may know more,” said Leliana.

“We’ll rescue her when we lay siege to Adamant,” said Cullen.

“Like I said, they’re holding her in an extremely secure location—not even I could get in,” said Nathaniel.

“Flora will not be difficult to find. She was never the type of woman to fade into the shadows,” said Leliana.

“How so?” asked Gwendolyn in confusion.

“If she’s there, I very much doubt we will need to look for her. Flora has a talent for making herself known,” said Leliana.

“Ah,” said Gwendolyn.

“And she is very loud for someone so bloody small,” said Nathaniel.

“Inquisitor, I don’t think I need to tell you just how critical it is that we get Flora out of there alive,” said Leliana.

“The loss of Ferelden’s queen and Hero would be…_devastating_,” said Josephine.

“She also commands their army,” pointed out Cullen.

“Yes, and King Alistair would also be rendered useless. I think we all get the point. We need to get Cousland out of there, preferably while she’s still breathing,” said Nathaniel.

“Commander, are our preparations underway for the siege?” asked Gwendolyn.

“We march on your order, Inquisitor,” nodded Cullen.

And so, march we did.


	19. Out of the Frying Pan and into the Fade

There was something terribly powerful about seeing the Inquisition forces prepared for battle, surrounded by siege engines, and prepared to begin siege of an ancient fortress manned by corrupt Grey Wardens. It was surreal to see it all coming together—to see how far the Inquisition had come from just a few determined people in a chantry in Haven. But now the Inquisitor had brought together an army of the faithful and her commander had trained them to be a force to be reckoned with.

Standing there at the top of the hill overlooking the fortress and the battlefield, victory seemed assured. For how could anyone lose with these people leading the charge and this massive army gathered? The Inquisitor stood front and center, with Leliana and Cullen on either side of her, her left and right hands. Then you had Stroud, the respected Grey Warden, doing everything in his power to exude the sort of quiet power that Grey Wardens were meant to be the embodiment of. Beside him was Hawke, the Champion of Kirkwall and powerful mage, an expert on reigning destruction and retribution down upon those who crossed her. And then there was Nathaniel Hawke, Warden-Constable and a hero in his own right, standing as stoic and resolute as the statues in Amaranthine dedicated to him.

It was a regular dream team of legends, heroes, and warriors, and the Wardens inside Adamant would have been shitting themselves if they had known.

As soon as the command was given, the chaos began. If you have never witnessed a fortress under siege, there is nothing to properly do it justice. There is nothing that can compared you for the raw fear that will hang in the air, of the blood that will make the stones slick and muddy the dirt. There is no way to describe the smell of death that permeates the air or the raw stress of the situation. They say that war is chaos, and they are right.

In seemingly no time at all, our forces broke through the front gates of the fortress and our people began pouring through, with us lucky few leading the charge. There we were—the Inquisitor, Cassandra, Dorian, and me, right at the vanguard entering the half-collapsed front entrance.

As soldiers flooded in around us, Cullen ran over to us, as much to give us instructions as to wish his Inquisitor well. “All right, Inquisitor, you have your way in. Best make use of it. We’ll keep the main host of demons occupied for as long as we can.”

“I’ll be fine, Cullen. Just keep the men safe,” said Gwendolyn.

“We’ll do what we have to, Inquisitor. Warden Stroud, Howe, and Hawke are on the battlements and will keep them secure until you arrive. If you can clear out the enemies on the battlements, we’ll cover your advance,” said Cullen.

Gwendolyn nodded and Cullen ran off.

And so, we ran deeper into the fortress, around broken bits of fortress and dead soldiers, doing our best to focus on the task at hand. We encountered demons and Wardens on our way, cutting them down just to keep moving. The first floor of the fort had clearly taken a huge impact from the siege, and dodging rubble became a major obstacle.

We made it back outdoors and found ourselves at the top of a staircase leading to a training courtyard of sorts, where a three-way battle was occurring between Warden warriors, Warden mages, and our men. We joined in the fray, naturally, fighting alongside our men and the warriors against the mages, and had them defeated in no time.

“The Inquisition is here to stop Clarel, not to kill Wardens. If you fall back, you won’t be harmed!” announced Gwendolyn.

The leader of the Wardens there lowered his sword in agreement. “All right. My men will stay back. We want no part of this. Deal with Clarel as you must.”

From the courtyard, we ran through another hall and up a set of stairs to the battlements, where it was clear the fighting was the worst. Demons were everywhere, and fighting through them was no simple task, but manageable with the aid of the soldiers. We did our best to clear the demons away from the siege points, and the soldiers seemed grateful for the assistance, if a bit in awe of their Inquisitor.

As we moved through, it became clear that a rift was forming within the Wardens. The warriors and rogues among them wanted no part in any of this, often pitching in and helping the Inquisition soldiers. But the mages, whether with or without demons, were loyal to Clarel, and fought us tooth and nail every step of the way. It was almost sad to see such a great order fall, all for the folly of one woman.

From that section of battlements, we headed back inside, through ancient rooms used for purposes unclear. The fighting was less inside, and the relative calm was almost unsettling. When we headed back outside, there were Wardens and demons alike, all doing their best to kill us, and also doing their best to undermine the very order they had wished to protect.

It may have been an hour or a minute that all passed by in a blur as we left the battlements and passed through a series of heavy metal doors to the main bailey of the fort. We fought with the forces in the bailey, where our soldiers whispered that some of the Wardens might not actually be evil, and pressed on. More rooms, more halls, more metal doors, and then: the central courtyard.

It was there in the courtyard that we found the magister and Clarel standing on the balcony above, with a group of Wardens below. A large stone slab lay before the two of them, with a woman chained down to it. She wore an asymmetrical red coat of tinted dragonwing, high black boots, matching gloves, and her long, dark auburn hair down and splayed out on the slab. She wore a Silverite chest piece, much as the other Wardens, but the crest was different. This one had a mabari and a griffon with a crown above, all etched in gold, and definitely not the Grey Warden sigil.

“Wardens! We have been betrayed by the very world we have sworn to protect!” called Clarel as she paced about, her shaved head and severe features making her feel very much like a bird of prey.

“The only one betraying the world is you!” exclaimed the woman on the slab, her accent highborn Fereldan.

“The Inquisition is inside, Clarel. We have no time to stand on ceremony. The Archdemon must be purged from this woman’s body and we must summon our aid,” the magister was saying.

“These men and women are giving their lives, Magister. That might mean little in Tevinter, but for the Wardens, it is a sacred duty,” said Clarel.

“Sacred duty, my arse! Release me this instant!” fumed the sacrifice.

“The Archdemon within her is what’s causing all of this, Clarel,” urged the magister.

“You’ll regret this. Do you really think you can kill me and have there be no repercussions? My entire kingdom will rise up to avenge me. The only thing my death will accomplish is blackening the Grey Warden name in Ferelden indefinitely,” said the sacrifice.

An older Warden warrior approached them then and bowed slightly to Clarel. “Commander, perhaps sacrificing her is not necessary. If blood is all that is required, and if my sword arm can no longer serve the Wardens, then my blood will have to do.”

Perhaps as a sign of her lack of hesitation in killing the woman on the slab, Clarel stood behind the aging Warden and held a dagger to his throat. “It will.”

With that, she slit his throat, and we arrived just in time to watch the man slump to the ground, with Hawke, Howe, and Stroud joining us at the same time.

“Wardens! Destroy them!” ordered the magister.

As the Wardens turned to face all of us and a rift began to churn in the air behind them, Gwendolyn walked forward. “It’s done, Clarel! There will be no ritual and no demon army!”

Nathaniel Howe looked at the Warden on the slab and sighed heavily. “Dammit, Cousland.”

“Then the Blight rises with no Wardens left to stop it and the whole world dies! Is that what you want?” said the magister.

“Oh that’s not why you’re doing this and you know it. See _reason_, Clarel,” said the sacrifice—Warden-Commander Flora Cousland-Theirin, the Hero of Ferelden.

“And yes, the ritual requires blood sacrifice. Hate me for that if you must, but do not hate the Wardens for doing their duty,” said the magister.

“Their duty?! Their duty is to stop the Blights, not help start one! Clarel, can you not see how this will end? How you are betraying the very Order you swore to protect?” insisted Cousland.

“It is _you_ who betrayed the Wardens, not I. You, who turned her back on the Order in pursuit of her own power,” spat Clarel.

“Oh really? And just how many Archdemons have _you _killed, hmm? Darkspawn magisters? Because it looks a lot to me like you’re _serving _one instead!” hissed Cousland.

“We make sacrifices no one else will. Our warriors _die _proudly for a world that will never thank them,” said Clarel.

“And then your Tevinter ally binds the mages to Corypheus!” shot back Stroud.

Stroud might as well have poured a bucket of ice water on her. “Corypheus? But he’s dead.”

“These people will do anything to shake your confidence, Clarel,” said the magister.

Clarel rubbed her forehead, torn between her conscience and duty. And then she lowered her hand and made her choice. “Bring it through.”

The churning sky in the center of the courtyard bubbled and stretched as a massive rift stretched open.

“Please, I have seen more than my share of blood magic and it is never worth the cost!” urged Hawke.

“Clarel, do not let this be your legacy. Do not let the Wardens be remembered for corruption and death when they can do so much good for the world,” said Cousland.

“I trained half of you myself! Do not make me kill you to stop this madness,” said Stroud, addressing the Wardens.

The magister looked at Clarel. “Be ready with the ritual, Clarel. This demon is truly worthy of your strength.”

“Listen to me! I have no quarrel with the Wardens! I have spared those I could! I don’t want to kill you. You’re being used…and some of you know it, don’t you?” said Gwendolyn.

Some of the Wardens glanced around.

“The mages who’ve done the ritual? They’re not right. They were my friends, but now they’re like puppets on a string,” said one.

“You cannot let fear sway your mind, Warden Chernoff!” barked Clarel.

“He’s not afraid, you are! You’re afraid that you ordered all these brave men and women to die for nothing,” said Hawke in disgust.

“I honor your bravery, my brothers and sisters. But this is not the way. You have been tricked,” said Stroud.

The assembled Wardens glanced at each other and then turned back to Clarel accusingly.

“Clarel, do not let them shake your faith now,” said the magister.

“Perhaps we could test the truth of these charges, to avoid more bloodshed,” said Clarel uncertainly.

“Or perhaps I should bring in a more reliable ally,” said the magister darkly.

The magister turned to address us. “My master thought you might come here, Inquisitor! He sent me this to welcome you!”

And as the magister tapped his staff on the stone, a roar echoed through the fortress that made our blood run cold. It was impossible to hear without thinking back to the destruction of Haven, to the fire and death it had brought with it. And as the dragon swooped down and blasted red fire down on the courtyard, the fear was very real. It landed on the top of a nearby tower, screeching and flapping its wings, scaring half the Wardens shitless.

“Swooping is bad. Swooping is bad. Swooping is _bad_,” muttered Cousland in a panic as she glanced around at the crackling red and black fire of the dragon and then back to the beast itself, struggling against her restraints.

Clarel chose that moment to finally see reason. She took a few steps back from the magister and blasted him in the back with a ball of lightning. He tumbled to the ground and the dragon stared directly at her. She looked at the dragon, then back to the magister, then back to the dragon, and blasted the dragon with lightning. The lightning did exactly nothing beyond infuriating the creature, and it responded by blasting her with red fire. Clarel flew backward and the dragon flew off.

As the magister got to his feet and ran off, Clarel stumbled to her feet as well, intent on giving chase. But just before she ran off, she released Cousland’s restraints and she turned to the Wardens and barked one final order. “Help the Inquisitor!”

Demons poured through the rift and attacked, but now we had the Wardens to back us up. The pride demon and its underlings stood no chance against us, but then again, it also wasn’t our main focus. Not when Clarel and the magister were still out there. Cousland had found two wicked looking daggers and fought with us, and she, Hawke, and the Inquisitor were the first to bolt after Clarel and the magister, with Cousland leading the charge. Leliana and her people arrived just as we took off and another wave of demons appeared through the Breach. Howe and Leliana shouted after Cousland, but she was already gone, close on Clarel’s tail. We followed after them, with all of us running into demons as we went. Along an outer hall, the dragon appeared and rained fire down on us as we battled shades, but still we powered through to the upper levels of the fort.

And then we reached the roof. Clarel was confronting the magister, who stood near the far edge firing spells at her, but she deflected them as she stormed over his way.

“You! You’ve destroyed the Grey Wardens!” fumed Clarel.

She knocked him over with a Stone Fist spell and he slowly got to his feet, laughing weakly through the pain. “You did that to yourself, you stupid bitch. All I did was dangle a little power before your eyes. And you couldn’t _wait_ to get your hands bloody!”

But here’s the thing about Warden-Commanders: they don’t like it when you insult them like that. Clarel blasted him with a bolt of lightning that sent him flying backward, his clothing singed as he curled up in pain. Cousland got there just in time, stepping on his chest and glaring down at him, daggers dripping blood onto his white coat, yet nowhere near as deadly as the steely look in her eye.

“You could have served a new god,” said the magister.

“I will _never _serve the Blight,” declared Clarel.

We arrived just then, just in time to see the dragon land and pick Clarel up in its mouth, shake her about, then spit her out. We were repositioned towards an ancient bridge as Clarel, somehow still alive, crawled our way and the dragon pursued.

We were all backed out onto the bridge as Clarel recited the Warden oath. “In war, victory. In peace, vigilance…”

The dragon was right above her then, and Clarel made the most of it. With one last blast of lightning, she struck the dragon’s vulnerable underbelly. Which, you know, was great and all, but it also had the effect of _destroying the bridge_ that we were all standing on. The dragon fell off immediately, but the rest of us still attempted to scramble for safety. The bridge fell away as we ran and soon we found ourselves plummeting into the abyss below, surely to meet a sticky end crushed between the ground and chunks of ancient masonry.

But clearly, that’s not what happened.

In a flash of brilliance, Gwendolyn used her mark to open a rift and as we fell all right…but we didn’t land on the ground in Adamant. Nope, that would have been too easy. Instead, we fell into the Fade. As in, the actual Fade. Physically.

I promise you, it’s even worse than it sounds.

Now, I’ve said before that certain things are impossible to describe unless you’ve been there or seen them. And sometimes that’s true. It’s difficult to convey the experience of a battlefield or a castle siege. But understand that when I say that actually physically being in the Fade is an experience that defies all logic and shakes you to your very core, I genuinely mean it. Physics do not apply here. Your compass won’t work. Everything that happens defies logic and reason. The sky is a swirling mass of otherworldly green. Rocks and crystals grow out of the ground at sharp and unnatural angles. Rivers of green and black sludge flow from murky puddle to murky lake. Rocks float in the sky, things fall up instead of down, but only some of the time. Gravity is the same strength as the real world, but applies to all surfaces. You can walk up the side of a rock. If there were proper buildings, you could walk up those too. It’s mind numbing and hurts your brain just to look at all of it.

Gwendolyn had the luck to land on solid ground, gracefully and effortlessly. Stroud and Hawke were each standing on the sides of stone pillars. The rest of us were rudely tossed onto the ground in a jumbled pile of discomfort.

“Where are we?” asked Stroud as he looked around.

“We were falling…is this…are we dead? If this is the Maker’s bosom, the Chantry owes me an apology,” wondered Hawke.

“No…I think…I think we’re in the Fade,” said Gwendolyn.

Cousland got to her feet and brushed herself off, glanced around, and promptly began swearing like a sailor. “The _Fade_? As in _physically _in the Fade?! Oh _no_. Not this Fade shit again. Twice was enough for this nonsense, thanks. And here I thought Clarel trying to murder me was going to be the low point of the day.”

“Well, we’re alive, right? That’s something. Who are you, by the way?” said Gwendolyn.

“Warden-Commander Cousland?” said Stroud in surprise.

The Warden was brushing herself off angrily. “Yes. And who are you lot?”

“We’re with the Inquisition,” said Gwendolyn.

“The what now?” the Warden asked.

“The Inquisition,” repeated Gwendolyn.

“Since when is there—you know what, I don’t care. Warden Stroud I recognize, and the Champion of Kirkwall is somehow involved, so I’ll just assume that you lot know what you’re doing,” said the Warden. “Evening, Hawke, by the way. I trust you’ve been well?”

“Hmm, yes, lovely day we’re having. Almost enough to make me miss the days of Meredith and the Arishock causing problems,” said Hawke.

“Tell me about it,” said Cousland tiredly.

“Warden-Commander—you’re the Hero of Ferelden!” said Cassandra in surprise.

“So they tell me,” said Cousland.

“But you have been missing for years!” said Cassandra.

“_No_, I have not been in Denerim for years. I have been _missing _as of several months ago when I was rudely kidnapped and imprisoned by the Wardens in Adamant,” said Cousland.

“It’s true. I saw her just a few months ago. We met for tea,” said Hawke.

“Technically you were also missing, Hawke,” I pointed out.

Hawke shrugged.

“You abandoned your kingdom when they needed you most!” accused Cassandra.

Flora Cousland was having a bit of a rough day and being in the Fade while also being berated by Cassandra was not helping things. The Seeker just had that effect on people, really. “On the contrary, I left to the end of the future stability of the monarchy. Now, shall I get you a ladder, so you can get off my back?”

Hawke smirked at that.

Cassandra made a disgusted noise.

“You know, I’ve been here before in dreams and to rescue that one boy, but it’s different in person,” said Hawke.

“The last time I was in the Fade, a desire demon nearly trapped me here over a game of chess,” mused Dorian.

“The first time I was here, a sloth demon trapped us all in its lair and I had to rescue all of my idiot friends from their own little slices of heaven. _And _I turned into a mouse,” glowered the Hero of Ferelden.

“A mouse?” said Dorian, giving her an odd look.

She shifted uncomfortably. “…I got better.”

“Dwarves are not meant to be in the Fade, Inquisitor. We don’t come here to dream like you humans do,” I said.

“This isn’t how I remember the Fade. Perhaps it’s because we’re here physically instead of just dreaming,” said Hawke. She turned to look over at Gwendolyn. “The stories say you walked out of the Fade at Haven. Was it like this?”

Gwendolyn rubbed her forehead. “I don’t know…I still don’t remember what happened the last time I did this.”

“So, it’s the blind leading the blind. Lovely,” said Cousland.

“Well, whatever happened at Haven, we can’t assume we’re safe now. That huge demon was right on the other side of the rift Erimond was using. And there could be others,” said Hawke.

“In our world, the rift the demons came through was nearby. In the main hall. Can we escape the same way?” wondered Stroud.

Far away, a portal, or perhaps a rift, could be seen swirling in the air, the shimmering image of the courtyard at Adamant just barely visible.

Gwendolyn glanced at it and then back at us. “Well, it beats waiting around for demons to find us, right?”

We set out into the Fade, everyone on edge, as we passed through the foreign landscape of the Fade. So far we hadn’t encountered any demons. That was good at least. We splashed along through the oily puddles and shallow rivers, actively attempting not to think about where we were, how we’d gotten there, and the fact that it was extremely possible we might not get out.

But, of course, as it the way of all Fade nonsense, our relative peace didn’t last long. We’d only just turned a corner when boom! Surrounded by shades that decided to attack us. The only good thing about that was that it allowed us to vent our panic and frustration on something.

The shade defeated, we pressed on, passing through bogs of Fade goo, weird red plants, and hideous statues holding bowls of fire. Dorian, naturally, had commentary on the subject.

“Just when I think I’ve seen the ugliest statue, another one appears to utterly disappoint me further. Truly, this is insult to injury,” lamented Dorian.

“You’ve clearly never seen Avvar architecture. I promise you, that’s worse,” said Cousland.

As we pushed on further, the statues became more abundant and we began to encounter some semblance of actual architecture, albeit broken ruins of ancient architecture. How it got there or where it came from, none of us knew, and frankly, none of us really wanted to know. We ran into more shades as we traveled along, but they were quickly dispatched by our dream team of warriors stuck in the Fade. The occasional Eluvian was there too, which was a bit of a curiosity for everyone involved. Why were there Eluvians there? But never mind. We didn’t want to know.

As we headed further into the Fade, or at the very least further from our starting point, we headed up a decrepit staircase, headed to the top, and promptly came to a dead stop, all of us frozen in shock. And for once, it wasn’t because we’d accidentally stumbled upon a crime scene or misread a map and walked into a dragon’s lair. No, of all the things we’d thought that we’d run into, Divine Justinia V standing there at the top of the stairs was not one of them.

“By the Maker, could that be…?” wondered Stroud.

“I greet you, Warden, Champion. And you, Hero,” said the Divine.

Cassandra was in shock. “Divine Justinia? Most Holy?”

“Cassandra,” said the Divine lovingly.

Gwendolyn glanced at the Seeker. “Cassandra, you knew the Divine. Is this really her?”

“I…I don’t know,” replied the Seeker uncertainly. “It is said that the souls of the dead sometimes pass through the Fade but…we know the spirits lie. Be wary, Inquisitor.”

“I fear the Divine is indeed dead,” said Stroud. “It is likely we face a spirit…or a demon.”

“You think my survival impossible, yet here you stand alive in the Fade yourselves,” said the Divine. “In truth, proving my existence either way would require time we do not have.”

“Surely you can understand our concerns and explain what you are,” said Hawke.

“I am here to help you,” said the Divine, looking back at the Inquisitor. “You do not remember what happened at the Temple of Sacred Ashes, Inquisitor.”

“The real Divine would have no way of knowing I’d become Inquisitor,” said Gwendolyn.

“I know because I have examined memories like yours, stolen by the demon that serves Corypheus,” said the Divine. “It is the Nightmare you forget upon waking. It feeds off memories of fear and darkness, growing fat upon the terror.”

“Oh _great_,” grumbled Cousland.

“You’re telling me,” agreed Hawke.

“The false Calling that terrified the Wardens into making such grave mistakes? Its work,” said the Divine.

“I would gladly avenge the insult this Nightmare dealt my brethren,” said Stroud.

“I agree. This thing might be bad, but it’s no Archdemon. Let’s kill it,” said the Hero of Ferelden.

Stroud nodded in sharp agreement.

“You will have your chance, brave Wardens. This place of darkness is its layer,” said the Divine.

“This whole place? That huge demon that Clarel was trying to bring through? This entire place is its layer?” said Gwendolyn.

The Divine nodded. “Yes.”

“Well…shit,” said Gwendolyn, then pressed on. “How does Corypheus control so many demons anyway?”

“It is possible that his power comes from the Blight itself. But the Nightmare serves willingly, for Corypheus has brought much terror to this world. He was one of the magisters who unleashed the First Blight upon the world, was he not? Every child’s cry as the Archdemon circles, every dwarf’s whimper in the Deep Roads…the Nightmare has fed well.”

“Can you help us get out of the Fade?” asked Gwendolyn.

“That is why I found you. When you entered the Fade at Haven, the demon took a part of you. Before you do anything else, you must recover it.” The Divine gestured toward the expanse of Fade in front of us, where small balls of light drifted about. “These are your memories, Inquisitor.”

More shades appeared then, and we sprang into action, battling them and freeing those fragile balls of white light. The Inquisitor ran around, touching each one and absorbing it back into her mind, remembering what she had forgotten. When she touched the last one, it triggered a vision—a vision we all took part in.

_It was in the Temple of Sacred Ashes, the day of the Conclave. The Divine was being suspended in the air, bound by reams of red magical energy. A half dozen Warden mages stood around, fueling the bonds that held her, their eyes empty and controlled. Corypheus stepped forward, the orb floating in his hand. _

_ “Now is the hour of our triumph,” he said. _

_ The Divine looked around at the Wardens. “Why are you doing this? You, of all people?”_

_ “Keep the sacrifice still,” said Corypheus, holding out the orb out and powering it. _

_ Green magic sparked around the orb and hit the Divine. _

_ “Someone! Help me!” cried out the Divine. _

_ The doors to the room burst open and a very confused Gwendolyn strolled in cautiously. “What’s going on here?”_

_ The Divine and Corypheus both turned, startled by the Inquisitor’s sudden appearance. And while Corypheus was distracted, the Divine used her remaining strength to knock the orb from his hand, batting it to the floor in Gwendolyn’s direction. Perhaps out of instinct or moved by the Maker’s will, she bent and touched the orb with her left hand, giving her the Anchor as she cried out in pain. Corypheus let out a roar of fury and rushed forward, just as the orb let out a burst of light, ending the vision_.

We returned to our minds back in the Fade, everyone rubbing their temples and groaning.

“So,” began Stroud. “Your mark did not come from Andraste. It came from the orb Corypheus used in his ritual.”

“Corypheus intended to rip open the Veil, use the Anchor to enter the Fade, and throw open the doors of the Black City. Not for the Old Gods, but for himself. When you disrupted his plan, the orb bestowed the Anchor upon you instead,” explained the Divine.

“Well, that’s…mildly unhelpful,” said Gwendolyn.

“You cannot escape the lair of the Nightmare until you have recovered all that the demon took from you. You have recovered some of your memories, but now it knows you are here. You must make haste. I will prepare the way ahead,” said the Divine.

Hawke hadn’t stopped scowling since the vision had ended, and Stroud picked up on it. “Something troubles you, Hawke?”

Hawke leveled a glare at him. “Those were Grey Wardens holding the Divine in that vision. Their actions led to her death.”

“I assumed he had taken their minds, as we have seen him do before,” said Stroud defensively.

“They contributed to her _death_,” snapped Hawke.

“Sweet Maker, can this argument not wait until we are out of the Fade?” said Gwendolyn.

“The Inquisitor is right. We can continue this argument later,” said Stroud.

“Oh, I intend to,” glowered Hawke.

“Could that truly have been the Most Holy?” wondered Cassandra.

“Who knows? But if we’ve survived, perhaps she did as well. She seems interested in helping us. That much is clear,” shrugged Cousland.

“And what of the demon she mentioned? This Nightmare sounds dangerous,” said Hawke.

“I’ve killed an Archdemon; anything after that is just anticlimactic,” said Cousland flippantly.

“But this isn’t an Archdemon,” said Hawke.

“Exactly, so it’s even less of a threat. If it draws breath, it can be killed. That’s all I care about,” said Cousland.

“Sounds like it preys on fear. Stealing people’s memories. That’s low, even for a demon,” I said. “Memories make us what we are. A monster that takes them away? I don’t want to think about that.”

“After what it did to our fellow Wardens, I pray we find some way to strike it down,” said Stroud.

“Like I said, let’s kill it,” said Cousland.

“Is that your answer to everything? Let’s kill it with brute force?” asked Dorian.

“Hey, it’s gotten me this far, hasn’t it?” said Cousland with a shrug.

“How barbarian,” said Dorian.

“Yes, yes, all Fereldans are dog lords and only _just_ civilized. You wouldn’t be the first Tevinter to tell me that,” said Cousland irritably.

“As long as you recognize it. They say recognizing the problem is the first step to recovery,” said Dorian.

Cousland glared at him.

And so we continued on, fighting through the occasion outcropping of demons and exploring our way through the murky green ruins and gravity-defying Fade. Up a staircase, down a poor excuse for a path, through a shallow pond of green ooze, around another bend, and then more demons.

Oh, but it gets worse, because the Nightmare decided to start chatting with us, its voice deep, crisp, and dripping of aristocracy.

“Ah, we have a visitor,” purred the Nightmare demon, its voice emanating from nowhere and everywhere. “Some foolish little girl comes to steal the fear I kindly lifted from her shoulders. You should have thanked me and left your fear where it lay, forgotten. You think the pain will make you stronger? What fool filled your mind with such drivel? The only one who grows stronger from your fears is _me_. But you are a guest here in my home, so by all means, let me return what you have forgotten.”

“How lovely; it’s begun to talk to us,” said Dorian distastefully.

The demons attacked then, and we dispatched them easily enough. We headed down a staircase then, into what could almost be described as a waterlogged courtyard filled with broken statures reminiscent of the Qun. Up another staircase, down another rocky path, down another staircase, down another path, and into a spider’s nest. Or at least what looked like one.

“What are those things?” exclaimed Cassandra as the huge spiders crawled our way.

“Spiders? In the Fade? Typical,” said Gwendolyn.

“Spiders? Those weren’t spiders,” said Cassandra.

Cousland shuddered. “Childers.”  
“I saw…maggots,” said Cassandra in disgust.

“They must be smaller fears. They take the form of spiders to most because that is a common small fear. For others, they may take other forms, such as maggots or darkspawn, I suppose,” said Hawke.

“_Great_, because this place _needed _to get worse,” I said.

The Inquisitor led on along another path and up a staircase to an Eluvian surrounded by charred corpses.

The Nightmare demon’s voice echoed again. “Perhaps _I _should be afraid, facing the most powerful members of the Inquisition.” The demon laughed and then continued its taunts. “Once again, Hawke is in danger because of you, Varric. _You_ found the red lyrium. _You_ brought Hawke here…”

“Just keep talking, Smiley,” I said through gritted teeth.

Rage demons sprouted from the ground and attacked but were slain easily.

“Greetings, Dorian…it _is_ Dorian, isn’t it? For a moment, I mistook you for your father,” said the Nightmare demon.

“Rather uncalled for,” replied Dorian in a huff.

Gwendolyn glanced back at him, shooting him a look of sympathy.

We headed back down the stairs, that having been a dead end, and encountered more rage demons, fighting them off with little difficulty.

“He could be dying right now as you play the hero again, Flora. A dagger in the night, poison in his tea—and all your years of finding a cure will be for naught. His line will end, his reign will end, and you will never have been a proper queen to him. You’ve abandoned him just as you have the Wardens and just as you abandoned your parents to die. And now Alistair is going to die, just like your family, and everyone you’ve ever cared about,” taunted the demon.

“The _nerve _of some people,” said Cousland.

More Fade. More demons.

“Your Inquisitor is a fraud, Cassandra. Yet more evidence there is no Maker, that all your ‘faith’ has been for naught,” said the demon.

“Die in the Void, demon,” spat back Cassandra.

Down another staircase, more minor fears.

“Do you think it mattered, Hawke? Do you think anything you ever did mattered? You couldn’t even save your city or Anders; how could you expect to strike down a god? You’re a failure, and your family all died knowing it,” said the demon.

“Well, that’s going to grow tiresome quickly,” scoffed Hawke.

Through the ruins of an old city, up another path, and into a larger area with demons in a pond. The Divine stood on the ledge just before the pond, waiting for us.

“The Nightmare is closer now. It knows you seek to escape. With each moment, it grows stronger,” said the Divine. “You must recover the rest of your memories.”

The demons attacked, and there were more of them this time. it took an actual bit of effort to defeat them and reveal the glowing balls of light that drifted around the area. The Inquisitor ran around, collecting her memories, wincing each time she did so. I can only imagine what it was like to have such horrible memories flood back like that, but to her credit, Gwendolyn never complained.

“This is the Breach back at Haven. That’s how we…how _I _escaped,” said Gwendolyn.

And then the vision started.

_Gwendolyn was climbing up a vertical staircase or something that used to be a bridge, a horde of minor fears fast behind her. At the top of the wall stood the Divine, right by a rift and their salvation. The Divine called down words of encouragement as Gwendolyn climbed, just barely making it over the top before the demons did. The two of them ran, with Gwendolyn urging the Divine to go ahead of her, telling her to keep running towards the rift. But then a demon caught the Divine and began pulling her back, just as Gwendolyn reached the rift. The Inquisitor doubled back, grabbing at the Divine and trying to pull her to safety. But the Divine refused, pulling herself from Gwendolyn’s grasp._

_ “Go,” ordered the Divine. _

_ With that, the demons pulled her away, plunging back into the expanse of Fade below. Even more demons rushed towards Gwendolyn, who now stood by the rift alone. She wanted to go after the Divine, to somehow find a way to save her, but it was hopeless. The only thing she could do was to follow the Divine’s instructions, and so she ran through the rift. _

The vision ended and Gwendolyn’ expression was pained, wracked with guilt, as she turned to the Divine. “It was you. They thought it was Andraste sending me from the Fade, but it was the Divine behind me. And then you…she…died.”

The Divine, or whatever she was, took a moment to reply. “Yes.”

“So this creature is simply a spirit,” said Stroud.

“I think we all knew that was the case, Warden,” said Hawke irritably.

“I am sorry if I disappoint you,” said the Divine.

With that, the visage of the Divine burned away, revealing only a glowing being of burning golden light.

“Are you…her? Did you linger here to help me? Instead of passing on?” asked Gwendolyn uncertainly.

“If that is the story you wish to tell, it is not a bad one,” replied the spirit, or the Divine, or whatever she was.

“What we do know is that the mortal Divine perished at the Temple, thanks to the Grey Wardens,” said Hawke, shooting an accusatory look at Stroud and Cousland.

“You act as if either of _us _had anything to do with that. They did just try and sacrifice me to create a demon army. I’m not exactly their greatest advocate,” frowned Cousland.

“As I said, the Grey Wardens responsible for that crime were under the control of Corypheus. We can discuss this further once we reach Adamant,” said Stroud.

“Yes, Adamant, where the Inquisition faces an army of demons raised by the Wardens,” spat Hawke.

“How dare you judge us! After everything you did in Kirkwall!” argued Stroud.

“Hey, now is not the time for this,” interceded Cousland.

“How are you any better? You killed Maker knows how many people just to get your way and pulled some nonsense with the Archdemon just to get yourself a throne. Or like what happened in Amaranthine? You leave a trail of dead bodies wherever you go!” said Hawke.

“You really do not wish to go there, Hawke,” said Cousland darkly.

Hawke turned back to Stroud. “And yes, I started the mage rebellion because the templars in Kirkwall were abusing their power and were ready to purge the mages! Even without the influence of Corypheus, the Wardens go too far. They need to be checked.”

“And yet the Wardens are all that stand between this world and being overrun by darkspawn! Do you not remember what happened to Ferelden during the last Blight? Do you have any idea what the darkspawn do to the people they capture? What horrors and atrocities those people who are unlucky enough to survive endure? The Wardens exist to prevent that from becoming the world. Honestly, Hawke, your own brother is one,” said Cousland.

“The Wardens are a risk. Send them away before they cause even more trouble,” said Cassandra.

“Oh yes, exile us, because that worked so well the _last _time people did that,” snapped Cousland.

“Had the Fereldan Wardens had the numbers they needed during the Fifth Blight, much of the damage may have been stopped at Ostagar,” agreed Stroud.

“Exactly. Their methods are not always good, and I will agree that what happened here was beyond a travesty, but you cannot exile them like that. To get rid of the Wardens is to doom us all,” said Cousland.

“I don’t know what to tell you. There are a few good ones, but an awful lot of the Wardens I’ve known went crazy,” I said, which earned me a death glare from the Hero of Ferelden.

“This debate can wait until we’re out of danger! Maker’s Breath, this is not the time for politics or philosophy!” fumed Gwendolyn.

“Inquisitor…” trailed off Hawke as she nodded past Gwendolyn.

We all looked to see a practical horde of minor fears coming our way.

“The Nightmare has found us,” said the Divine’s spirit, and then vanished.

Differences of opinion aside, we sprang into action, squishing spiders and killing demons.

“Warden Stroud, how must it feel to devote your whole life to the Wardens, only to watch them fall? Or worse, to know that you were responsible for their destruction? When the next Blight comes, will they curse your name?” asked the Nightmare.

“With the Maker’s blessing, we will end this wretched beast,” said Stroud.

We pressed on, through a maze of crystal-like black stones poking out of the swamp.

“Your family never loved you and only ever sought to control you, Inquisitor, just as the Inquisition does now. You’re weak and pitiful and will never be loved. Your weakness will be your undoing, and all shall blame you when you fail. You’re just another worthless mage who destroyed the world. You’re a pathetic child will never escape her father’s leash,” spat the Nightmare.

“Shows what you know,” grumbled Gwendolyn.

We fought through lesser and greater terrors and shades, just trying to keep it together. Past another eluvian, through a dilapidated series of walls.

“So you think you can fight me? I am the Veiled hand of Corypheus himself! The demon army you fear? I command it. They are bound all through me!” exclaimed the Nightmare.

“Ah, so if we banish you, we banish the demons? Thank you, every fear come to life,” said the Divine’s spirit.

The Nightmare roared in frustration.

We passed through the Divine’s barrier and fought through more terrors and shades down to the edge of what seemed to be a vast lake of black water. We skirted through the edge of what might have been a bog or an estuary towards the far edge of the lake, where a small graveyard stood.

“What in Andraste’s name…?” wondered Hawke.

Each of the tombstones had our names on them, with each having our greatest fear written below. It was all there, written out for all of us to see, shaking us to our very cores. Cassandra had ‘helplessness’. I had ‘becoming his parents’. Dorian had ‘temptation’. Hawke had ‘inadequacy’. Stroud had ‘weakness’. Cousland had ‘loss’. And the Inquisitor had ‘failure’.

“I really, really hate the Fade,” grumbled Cousland.

Leaving the unnerving graveyard behind, we headed up yet another path past an eluvian and up a staircase past a waterfall. Honestly, it’s almost a bit difficult to describe, seeing as the entire Fade is uniformly disturbing and nonsensical. But of course, luck really was not on our side, so when we reached the crest of the hill, two pride demons were waiting for us. Pride demons being as awful as they are, this was not exactly _fun_. But at this point, we all just wanted to get out of there and damn the consequences. If that meant fighting through some pride demons, then so be it.

Down one last path, we reached the last barrier between us and the Nightmare. Dozens of demons swarmed us then, doing their best to stop us from moving on. It was a fight, all right, and a hard-won victory, but it was a victory nonetheless.

The barrier down, we moved on, passing through one final tunnel before reaching the last platform. The Divine’s spirit appeared to give us one last set of instructions.

“You must get to the rift and pass through to the real world, slamming the rift close in your wake. That will banish the army of demons…and exile this cursed creature to the farthest reaches of the Fade.”

There we found the rift just in the distance, our goal just in sight.

“Look there! The rift! We’re almost there!” announced Hawke.

“Great, Hawke. Why not just dare the Old Gods to try and stop you?” I said.

Hawke made a face at me, as is her way.

We reached the central platform, for lack of a better description, that was surrounded on all sides by monstrous outcroppings. It was the Nightmare’s layer, and horrific does not give it justice. The actual Nightmare was terrifyingly huge and shaped like a spider, well, out of your worst nightmares. But standing before it, approaching us, was a smaller version, shaped like a man with a spider for a head. Horrifying.

The Divine’s spirit appeared at Gwendolyn’s side briefly to say one final thing. “If you would, please tell Leliana, ‘I am sorry. I failed you, too’.”

With that, the Divine’s spirit floated over to the Nightmare and exploded in a burst of light, casting the massive Nightmare away and leaving us to deal with the Aspect of the Nightmare. The monster was much more powerful than the others we’d faced up until that point, and it put up one hell of a fight. And maybe it wouldn’t have been so bad of a battle, had smaller fears not appeared to aid it, distracting us from the main fight. Oh, and those spider things were everywhere. It was all we could do just to keep them off of us, never mind fight the Aspect of the Nightmare in the process. It was not a quick battle, and the raw fear goading us the whole time didn’t help. But we won, in the end, and the Aspect was defeated. Although we were all a little injured, Dorian most of all.

Seizing our opportunity, we sprinted off towards the rift, only to skid to a stop as the massive form of the Nightmare descended in front of us, standing between all of us and safety.

“We need to clear a path!” announced the Inquisitor.

Hawke had a look in her eyes I knew all too well, and I felt a pit in my stomach as she turned that gaze on Gwendolyn. “Go. I’ll cover you.”

“No. You were right. The Grey Wardens caused this. A Warden must—” began Stroud.

“A Warden must help them rebuild! That’s _your _job,” insisted Hawke before turning that stare on the demon. “Corypheus is mine.”

Gwendolyn glanced between them, her eyes flicking briefly over to the Warden-Commander as she shouldered an injured Dorian and helped him towards the rift, entirely unaware of this conversation. Her gaze settled back on Stroud, eyes filled with anguish over having to make this decision. The Inquisitor was never one to say die. Never one to give up. Knowing that someone was going to have to be sacrificed to cover their escape did not sit well with her. But sometimes sacrifices have to be made in order to achieve victory. That much is one thing the Wardens actually get right. Most of the time.

“Stroud…” trailed off Gwendolyn.

Stroud nodded, resolute in his duty, as the good Wardens always are. He rushed at the Nightmare, reciting the Warden’s oath as he did, a brave hero to the very last.

The rest of us passed through the rift then, emerging right back in the main plaza of Adamant fortress. Now, I say emerged, but what I really mean is fell unceremoniously into a jumbled heap on the pavement while Gwendolyn gracefully stepped out of the rift and used her Anchor to slam it shut behind her, banishing the demons in the courtyard in the process.

The assembled soldiers, a mix of Inquisition and Warden forces, cheered at the victory. Leliana and Cullen, who had both been part of the fray, seemed both to melt in relief, or as much as either of them is capable of melting in relief. Nathaniel Howe, who stood stiffly beside Leliana, only grunted in response, having rather expected this outcome. After all, he knew the Hero of Ferelden well enough to know that she regularly survived the impossible.

“With the Nightmare banished, Corypheus lost both his Warden mages and his demon army. But in the stories your soldiers will tell, their Inquisitor broke the spell with the Maker’s blessing,” said Hawke as she untangled herself from Dorian’s injured form and helped him to his feet.

“Once they understand what really happened…” trailed off Gwendolyn.

“They will be terrified. Let them have their stories,” said Cousland.

A scout chose that moment to run over to us, giving his report. “Inquisitor. The Archdemon flew off as soon as you disappeared. The Venatori magister is unconscious but alive. Cullen thought you might wish to deal with him yourself. As for the Wardens, those who weren’t corrupted helped us fight the demons.”

An armored Warden warrior stepped forward and bowed respectfully to Gwendolyn. “We stand ready to help make up for Clarel’s…tragic mistake.”

Cousland glanced around then, seeming to realize something. “Where’s Stroud?”

“He sacrificed himself so that we could make our escape. He gave his life to right a wrong that the Wardens had done and because he believed in the oaths he took. He was a great man and he has helped to save all of our lives,” said Gwendolyn.

The Warden-Commander nodded solemnly.

The Warden warrior glanced between Hawke and the Inquisitor. “Your Worship, no one is left. Everyone in command is gone. What will we do now?”

Gwendolyn looked at the Hero of Ferelden expectantly. “You tell me, Warden-Commander.”

If looks could kill. “That is _former_ Warden-Commander to you. I resigned my commission years ago, even before I was held captive by the Order and almost turned into a blood sacrifice for them. I am Queen of Ferelden and that is all. I have a duty to my kingdom and to my people and I have neglected them long enough. Let Weisshaupt handle it.”

Gwendolyn didn’t like that answer but wasn’t about to make an enemy of a living legend just to get her way. She turned back to the Warden. “You stay and do whatever you can to help. Stroud believed that the Wardens are worth saving…and I trust him. Now is your chance to prove to everyone that he was right. You’re still vulnerable to Corypheus, and possibly his Venatori, but there are plenty of demons that need killing.”

“After all that, you give them yet another chance?” balked Cassandra.

“Thank you, Your Worship. We will not fail you,” said the Warden.

“Maker watch over your Inquisition. It has been an honor. Try not to start an Exalted March on anywhere,” said Hawke.

“Are you leaving?” asked Gwendolyn in surprise.

Hawke nodded. “I’ll travel to Weisshaupt and tell them what has happened here. Someone has to. And like Queen Flora said, they’ll handle it.”

Plans having been made, the day having been won, people began to disperse. Cassandra brought Dorian to the healers and I broke off to chat with Hawke.

Leliana practically pounced on Cousland, frantically demanding an explanation for her disappearance and now sudden reappearance from a Fade rift. You know, in a loving, older sister sort of way. Rather odd to see, actually. Cousland, in return, was just so relieved to actually see a friendly face that she knew and trusted after a year of terror and captivity, that she pulled Leliana into a tight hug and just let Nightingale yell at her. Well, the combined forces of Nightingale and Nathaniel Howe. There were quite a lot of stern looks going around.

As for the Inquisitor, she hadn’t made it more than ten feet from us before Cullen had her wrapped in a bear hug. It was uncharacteristic of him to be so public like this. Usually he and the Inquisitor kept things overly professional, never mentioning anything and going out of their way not to be showy about it. The stoic Commander rarely broke his overly serious façade. But the way he held her, so tightly with his head resting on hers, it was clear just how terrified he’d been for her. I suppose anyone would be after watching the person they care about fall off a bridge into a Fade rift. It was almost odd seeing them like this. Not that they were mismatched—far from it—but to see two people who so often seemed more than human so vulnerable and so _human_—it was kind of nice.

“Cullen, you’re wearing armor,” said Gwendolyn, wincing, though she made no attempt to extricate herself.

The Commander immediately released her, a frantic apology at the ready, as only she could get from him. “Oh—I’m sorry—I didn’t—I shouldn’t—”

Gwendolyn smiled tiredly, reached up, and gave him a peck on the cheek. Naturally, the Commander flushed full as red as his clothes, utterly failing to maintain his composure in front of his men yet struggling so hard to do so. Gwendolyn had a tendency to do that to him. And it was wonderfully amusing to watch happen.

“I’m sorry I worried you, Cullen. I’ll do my best not to fall off a bridge into the Fade again in the future,” said Gwendolyn.

“Thank you, Inquisitor,” said Cullen, still attempting to pull himself together.

Gwendolyn frowned slightly at that. She didn’t like it when he called her Inquisitor. Most of us called her Gwendolyn by now, or had given her some sort of nickname like Sera and I both had. Josephine and Leliana sometimes still called her that, especially in formal settings, but Cullen? He was the holdout. Too gentlemanly, it seemed, to give up certain degrees of formality. He really needed to relax more often.


	20. Reunion

Halfway across Thedas, several days later, in the royal palace in Denerim, King Alastair sat at his desk attending to the day’s duties. An old mabari named Brutus lay napping by the fire, despondent for missing his mistress and lifelong companion. The king, for all his youth, looked rather warn, seeing as the Calling had been an unrelenting screech in his ears at all hours. It was gone now. He didn’t know why it was gone, but Maker was he glad that it was.

Ferelden was still very much recovering from the Blight now ten years past, and yet every day seemed to bring a new crisis with it, a new conflict or a new disaster demanding his attention. It was far too much for one man to handle and the recent discovery of Venatori agents in the kitchens had only added to the stress of things. Really, when did it ever end? Why had he let Flora and Eamon talk him into this whole king business anyway again?

Alistair rubbed his face and stared absentmindedly at the tired old dog by the fire. Brutus wasn’t the only one that missed the queen. Maker’s Breath, but he did miss that woman. For two years now, he’d done his best to throw himself into his work, trying desperately not to feel her absence, but it was impossible to ignore. The entire palace seemed darker, emptier without her. For so long they’d been together, always tackling the latest crisis together as a team. But now she was far away and very much missing and her absence weighed heavily on his heart.

It hadn’t been so bad at first. They had remained in constant correspondence, with both updating one another on the latest developments and describing at length just how much they missed another. But ever since the Breach had opened and this whole Corypheus nightmare had started, he hadn’t heard anything from her, and Alistair was a wreck worrying for her. Flora was a survivor, certainly, and couldn’t possibly have gotten mixed up in this whole Inquisition business, right? Maybe she just hadn’t had time to write. Or maybe the unthinkable had happened and someone had gotten to her. Maybe his love was alone and deathly ill somewhere in the Anderfels and he would never hear from her again. Maybe these Venatori had gotten her.

He was accustomed to having nightmares. During the Blight they had been a mix of trauma and darkspawn, as was really only to be expected under the circumstances. Grey Wardens always dreamed of darkspawn and the Archdemon during a Blight; that’s just how it works. But now there was no Blight and the Archdemon had been dead for over a decade, so, naturally, his nightmares had gone away too, or at least most of them had. Until his queen had left. And until she had gone missing. Now the nightmares had recommenced and come back with a vengeance. Now, whenever he closed his eyes, a thousand frightening possibilities flashed before his eyes. Images of the unthinkable, from past and present, haunted his every dream. Flora, killed by the Archdemon. Flora, dead at the hands of Arl Howe and Teyrn Loghain. Flora, felled by the blade of an assassin when he could have prevented it. Flora, alone in the wilderness, bleeding out and helpless. Maker, he was afraid for her.

The king was actively attempting to read the latest report out of the Storm Coast when there came a soft knock at the door and a servant came in bearing a stack of mail.

“Letters, Your Majesty, from the Inquisition out of the Western Approach,” said the servant as he set them carefully on the king’s desk.

“Thank you, I’ll see to them right away,” said Alistair.

There were at least half a dozen letters there, each even thicker than the last. The first was from the Inquisition’s commander, asking about troop movements or military aid or some other tedious nonsense that Alistair could barely get through. He set that aside for later contemplation. Too bad _his _commander was his very missing wife. Maker’s Breath, he missed her. The second was from the Inquisition’s ambassador, asking if he would be attending Empress Celene’s Winter Ball. Alistair wrinkled his nose at that. _Not on your life_, he thought. The third caught Alistair’s immediate attention and brought him back to full alertness, written in an all too familiar hand.

_ Dear Long-Suffering Husband—_

_ Surprise! Guess what I found? Besides the Inquisition, that is. Or rather they found me. Or I suppose it was really Nate who did that, but that’s beside the point entirely. Did you know that they’ve got an entire fortress in the Frostbacks? Really, what _else _is tucked away in these mountains that we don’t know of? I feel like every time we come here, we stumble upon another secret society or something. Really, this is getting a little out of hand. _

_ I’m sorry you haven’t heard from me in so long. I know you must be incredibly worried, but I promise you that I’m completely fine. Well, or at least now I am. You know, minus this whole fake Calling business, but that’s an unrelated crisis. I realize that my abrupt stop in correspondence had the poor timing of happening at the same time as the tragedy at the Temple of Sacred Ashes, and I’m sorry for making you worry like this. If it’s any consolation, I have been kept nice and safe and secure in Adamant Fortress by a veritable horde of murderous Wardens with delusions of ending all future Blights with an army of demons (long story). _

_Apparently, darkspawn magisters and their lackeys don’t much like the idea of a Warden finding a cure to the Calling when that’s what they’re using to the control the Order. Who would have thought? Like I said, it’s a long story, much too long to put in a letter, and it has been an extraordinarily long day. I promise you, dear husband, that the story was already long _before _this day started, the Inquisition showed up out of nowhere, and the Inquisitor pulled some Fade nonsense and dragged us all into it. (You know how I loathe Fade nonsense). _

_Now that I read this, I realize that this requires some semblance of context. Right. So, a year ago, well before all this Corypheus business began, I was minding my own business, ready to return to Denerim with the cure. I expect you never got that letter, seeing as it was intercepted by the Grey Wardens of Orlais who, as I said before, had been more or less corrupted and taken over by a Tevinter Magister. And by that, I mean that Clarel, in all her wisdom, allowed herself to be talked into using a mess of blood magic to sacrifice the Warden warriors so that the mages might bind demons to themselves, create an army of demons, march them into the Deep Roads, and kill all the Old Gods before they can be corrupted. Alistair, I wish I was kidding. And Clarel had the audacity to say that _we _were corrupt for not dying when we killed the Archdemon? And for assuming Ferelden’s throne? I mean, _really_. _

_In any case, Clarel managed to track me down and intercept my correspondences, have me taken back to Adamant, and locked in a room befitting my status. For a year. You can imagine how pleased I was by this turn of events, but I imagine that is still better than whatever horrible fate you, Fergus, Nate, and Leliana had invented for me. As it turns out, this magister of Clarel’s had invented some nonsense about how I had an Archdemon inside me and that I had to be sacrificed at some specific time to end the Blights or something to that effect. I honestly have no idea. They nearly did it too, but the Inquisition appeared out of nowhere and stopped that from happening, thank the Maker. _

_I won’t get into the messy Fade business that happened afterwards (we fell off a bridge, the Inquisitor opened a portal into the Fade—it was awful). Like I said before, it’s been an incredibly long day. But, now that the Inquisitor has properly shamed the Wardens into cooperating, Clarel’s out of the picture, and the Calling has stopped, everything should be going a bit smoother. Though we’re still in the Western Approach, I can assure you that I am perfectly safe. Leliana has assigned a truly astounding number of soldiers to guard me, and Nate won’t leave me alone, so I very much doubt that I am in any danger. _

_Suffice it to say, it has been a very strange couple of hours. Even discounting this Fade nonsense, there’s an Inquisition now apparently, Leliana is its spymaster, that templar we saved during the Blight in the Circle is the Commander of the Inquisition’s forces and is _involved_ with the Inquisitor (who’s a mage!), Varric Tethras (the author) is apparently part of the Inquisition for some reason, a Tevinter magister’s son is involved with a Ben-Hassrath agent, both of whom are also in this Inquisition—and to top it all off, the Champion of Kirkwall is here. Alistair, I know the Blight had us allied with a very odd assortment of people, but I think the Inquisitor might actually win in this case. But then again, I suppose you already know all of this, seeing as you apparently met a number of them in Redcliffe. _

_In any case, dear husband, as soon as the business in Adamant is done, I swear that I am heading directly for Denerim and you. Though I’ve clearly not done a very good job of showing it, I miss you desperately, Alistair. I ache to see you again, to be reunited, and to finally rid ourselves of this blasted taint once and for all. We’re so close to finally getting the happy ending we deserve, Alistair. We’re so close. _

_I promise to actually keep in touch this time. _

_With all my love, always,_

_Flora_

Alistair reread the letter and then looked over to the mabari. “Hey, Brutus, how would you like to go on a trip?”

\---

Josephine met us at the gates as we returned from the Western Approach, somehow managing to look more warn and tired than any of us. And she hadn’t even physically been in the Fade.

“Is something wrong, Josephine?” asked the Inquisitor as she dismounted her grey and white horse.

“Not exactly, Inquisitor. I know you will wish to rest, particularly after your victory at Adamant, but I am afraid that we have guests,” said Josephine.

“What kind of guests? Don’t we always have guests?” asked the Inquisitor in confusion.

“Most do not arrive with a full complement of soldiers. He has been here for a week Inquisitor, and though it is wrong of me to complain, I fear that I am reaching my wits’ end. For days now, I have heard nothing but stories of how fantastic his wife is, how lovely she is, how brave she is, how he loves her more than cheese and his hair—his words, not mine—and how his love has gone on a quest, but will soon complete it and then they will be together, forever this time. As lovely as it is to hear that that he is apparently in a very loving relationship, I simply _cannot_ bear it,” said Josephine.

“That _does_ sound like Alistair,” smirked Leliana, who naturally had overheard the whole conversation.

“He brought a mabari!” exclaimed Josephine.

“Wait, Alistair, as in the King of Ferelden?” asked the Inquisitor.

“He is not here for the Inquisition,” said Leliana.

“Oh really? I had not thought to notice,” said Josephine in a huff.

“Let’s not tell him that she almost got left in the Fade,” said Gwendolyn.

“Good idea,” said Leliana.

As she spoke, a massive brown and grey war hound bolted past them through the courtyard and tackled the Warden as she stood chatting with Hawke about someone named Sir Pounce-a-lot. The Warden let out a squeal of delighted surprise as the mabari proceeded to lick her face with the kind of enthusiasm only ever seen in a dog seeing its master for the first time in years.

“Brutus! Oh, I’ve missed you too, boy. I’m sorry I left. You’ve been good, right? How’d you get here?” she laughed as she hugged the massive hound.

The mabari barked happily in response.

Josephine gestured vaguely in that direction. “Do you see what I mean?”

“The Fereldans have a very different idea of civility from us, Josie,” said Leliana.

Right on cue, across the courtyard, the Commander’s weary eyes lit up in excitement. “Is that a mabari?”

Josephine sighed in defeat.

There were more than a few Fereldan soldiers in the Inquisition, and it was their reaction that suggested another addition to the courtyard. After all, fifty or so men dropping everything to bow or stammer sudden apologies was something noteworthy, even here, where sometimes it felt more like the norm. But then again, the Inquisitor was a fairly common sight at Skyhold. But the King of Ferelden? A man who most people thought of as a hero and legendary warrior? The beloved king who saved his kingdom from the Blight? Not quite so common.

He’d just descended the stairs into the courtyard, the famous king wearing a goofy grin plastered across his handsome face. It was night and day compared to the man we’d met in Redcliffe, the man who’d angrily banished the rebel mages from Ferelden and made no secret of his disdain for the Inquisitor’s choice to ally with them. _This _was the man that Leliana and Flora had spoken so highly of—the man who had won the hearts of his people and of the Hero. But I guess I’d be a bit grouchy too if my wife had disappeared for two years and I had a constant scream blaring in my head for months on end.

As if she could somehow sense his presence, the Queen of Ferelden stopped petting the mabari and looked up. Her smile mirrored very his own as she stood up and ran to him. It was like something out of a romance novel, the way she flew into his arms and he spun her around, lifting her as if she weighed nothing. And when he held her in his arms and kissed her, it was if they were the only two people in the world. It was the kind of thing that could melt even the coldest of hearts or make even the most skeptical of people believe in happily ever after. And for them, maybe that’s what this was. Maybe they were the heroes of another story, just guest starring in this one, finally getting the happy ending they deserved.


	21. Lyrium and Lakes

The Fereldan royals left the next day with the Inquisition in good spirits. Overall, Adamant had been a sweeping victory for the Inquisition, after all. More than a few people quietly grumbled about the acquisition of the Grey Wardens, seeing as they were undoubtedly corrupt, but other than that, things were going fairly well.

Yes, for an entire _day_, it actually looked like we might just be doing okay.

But then the next day came and things took a turn for the worse. Leliana received a report of odd activity in the Fallow Mire, so sent Scout Harding to investigate. That was the first bad thing. The second bad thing happened when the Inquisitor went to go meet the Commander in his office…only to find a nervous soldier standing awkwardly by the desk.

“If you’re looking for the Commander, Inquisitor, he’s gone to speak with Seeker Pentaghast,” said the nervous soldier.

This was, of course, not altogether an odd occurrence. Cullen and Cassandra were friends, after all.. The Commander was also involved in assisting the Seeker track down the rest of the Seekers of Truth, so perhaps it had something to do with that. Regardless, Gwendolyn had had an actual purpose in stopping by Cullen’s office beyond just wanting to say hi or steal him away for a few minutes, and so she left the office in search of them.

Cassandra and Cullen were in the armory, which was otherwise empty, standing by the fire arguing. Cullen rubbed his forehead, his head pounding.

“You asked for my opinion, and I’ve given it. Why would you expect it to change?” frowned Cassandra.

“I expect you to keep your word. It’s relentless. I can’t—” began Cullen irritably, his headache overwhelming.

“You give yourself too little credit,” said Cassandra.

Cullen rubbed his forehead impatiently. The pounding in his ears made it difficult to think clearly. “If I’m unable to fulfill what vows I kept, then nothing good has come of this. Would you rather save face than admit—”

Just then, the door to the armory opened and Gwendolyn stepped inside, entirely unaware of what was transpiring, innocent of the pain that was to come.

The other two both turned at the sound and regarded her as she crossed the room. Cassandra was largely impassive, if mildly annoyed, as she stood with her arms crossed. Cullen, however, couldn’t look the Inquisitor in the eye. She hadn’t even properly made it over to them when he abruptly turned and left the room.

“Forgive me,” he said quietly as he brushed past her.

As the door clicked closed behind him, Gwendolyn turned to Cassandra, a pit forming in her stomach.

“And people say _I’m _stubborn. This is ridiculous,” said Cassandra. “Cullen told you that he’s no longer taking lyrium?”

“Yes, and I respect his decision,” said Gwendolyn.

“As do I. Not that he’s willing to listen,” said Cassadnra.

“Has…something happened?” asked Gwendolyn, dreading the answer.

“Cullen has asked that I recommend a replacement for him,” said Cassandra simply. There was no point in sugarcoating it, even if that was something the Seeker was capable of it in the first place.

Gwendolyn’s heart sank. This couldn’t be happening.

“I refused. It’s not necessary,” continued Cassandra. “Besides, it would destroy him. He’s come so far.”

“Why didn’t he tell me?” asked Gwendolyn, as much of herself as of the Seeker as she dropped down bodily into a chair.

“We had an agreement long before you joined us. As a Seeker, I could evaluate the dangers. And he wouldn’t want to…risk your disappointment,” said Cassandra. She struggled to find the correct words. She’d seen enough of the Commander and Inquisitor to know that whatever was going on between them was serious. And she was enough of a romantic to know that heartbreak might be on the horizon.

“Is there anything we can do to change his mind?” asked Gwendolyn, trying to keep her voice from shaking. She was terrified of what might happen to Cullen. She was afraid of him being hurt, of his health declining without lyrium, and of losing him entirely. The idea of doing all of this without him—the Inquisition, Corypheus, all of it—was unthinkable to her.

“If anyone could, it’s you. He values your opinion more than most. Still, while mages have made their suffering known, templars never have. They are bound to the Order, mind and soul, with someone always holding their lyrium leash. Cullen has a chance to break that leash, to prove to himself—and anyone who would follow suit—that it’s possible. He_ can _do this. I knew that when we met in Kirkwall. Talk to him. Decide if now is the time,” said Cassandra. As an afterthought, and because she couldn’t help herself, she added, “Love can heal many wounds. Just knowing that he has your support may be enough to get him through this.”

Gwendolyn felt sick but nodded numbly in response. She was distracted enough not to question the Seeker’s comment.

The Seeker left the armory, leaving the Inquisitor alone by the fire.

It took a few minutes for Gwendolyn to steel herself for the conversation to come. It was difficult to watch the man she…cared about be in so much pain. It was agony to know that he was suffering and that there was very little she could realistically do to help. She had done what she could, but it hadn’t been enough. All of her research into the topic had yielded the same result: there is no cure, only possible treatments. And even then, most of the treatments were either based on baseless conjecture or were only mildly better than wishful thinking. The only thing that had really stood a chance was that black lotus and prophet’s laurel draught she had been working on, but further experimentation proved that it would likely be lethal to whoever ingested it. The best treatment was to take care of yourself until the lyrium worked its way out of your system, and that was really it.

She left the armory and walked back along the battlements to Cullen’s office. When she got there, she found him standing over his desk, the templar lyrium box open in front of him. He didn’t notice her in the door, that much was clear. It was even more clear when he sudden let out a cry of frustration and threw the box across the room, narrowly missing the Inquisitor as it struck the doorframe.

“Maker’s Breath! I didn’t hear you enter, I—” began Cullen. He shook his head, his voice lowering. “Forgive me.”

Gwendolyn took a few cautionary steps forward. “So long as you weren’t aiming for me, I’m sure the box had it coming. But Cullen, if you need to talk…”

Cullen moved to walk around the desk. “You don’t have to—” Cullen groaned and stumbled into the desk, bracing his arm against it.

Gwendolyn hurried forward, but Cullen held out a hand to stop her, choosing to look at the desk instead of her. He was meant to be her source of strength and stability; he didn’t want her to see him like this. “I never meant for this to interfere.”

“Are you going to be all right?” she asked carefully.

“Yes…” Cullen sighed, and his shoulders slumped. “I don’t know.”

Gwendolyn felt her heart breaking as she watched him.

He straightened and finally looked at her, the pain making him fairly delirious. There was a wound that had been allowed to fester for too long untreated, infecting his life and causing him continued agony. The wound needed to be lanced—to be reopened so that the infection could be cleared and true healing finally occur. “You asked what happened to Ferelden’s Circle. It was taken over by abominations. The templars—my _friends_—were slaughtered.”

Gwendolyn was mortified. She didn’t know what to say, and at the moment, that was all right. Sometimes you just need someone to listen—someone to hear you out and offer only a few words afterwards.

Cullen turned and walked over to the window, gazing out at the mountains unseeingly. “I was tortured. They tried to break my mind, and I—how can you be the same person after that? Still, I wanted to serve. They sent me to _Kirkwall_. I trusted my Knight-Commander, and for what, hmm? Her fear of mages ended in madness. Kirkwall’s Circle fell. Innocent people died in the streets. Can’t you see why I want nothing to do with that life?”

“Of course I can. I—” began Gwendolyn.

“Don’t! You of all people should be questioning what I’ve done—especially as a mage,” said Cullen as he rubbed his face and moved to pace near her by the bookcases. “I thought this would be better—that I would regain some control over my life. But these thoughts—these memories—won’t leave me. How many lives depend on our success? I _swore_ myself to this cause. I gave my all to the Order in Kirkwall and served Meredith blindly until it was too late. I will _not_ give less to the Inquisition than I did to the Chantry. The Inquisition is my chance to atone, to make up for what I’ve done. But in the end, I’m just weak—a liability because of it all. I should be taking it!” With that he punched the bookcase, causing some of the books to tumble to the ground and Gwendolyn to jump. He hung his head and sighed. “I should be taking it.”

Gwendolyn moved to stand in front of him, forcing him to actually look at her. “This doesn’t have to be about the Inquisition. Is this what _you_ want?”

Cullen exhaled slowly and released his fist, his voice low and gentle now. “No. But…these memories have always haunted me—if they become worse, if I cannot endure this…”

She touched his shoulder and looked him dead in the eye. “You can.”

Cullen took a deep breath. “All right.”

Gwendolyn nodded and hugged him tightly, as if she might squeeze the hurt out of him if she tried hard enough. She didn’t let go for a long white, even as the hard edges of his armor dug into her uncomfortably. When she finally released him, she offered him an encouraging smile before leaving him alone and slipping out of the office. Cullen watched her leave, rubbing his neck as he did. She hadn’t said much, mostly just listened to him rant, but sometimes, a little reassurance and support was enough. And in the Commander’s case, those few words from the Inquisitor had been all he needed to soldier on and never so much as glance at lyrium again.

\---

The Inquisitor wanted to give her commander space before bothering him again. He was going through a difficult time, she knew, but she was confident that he would overcome this. Lyrium withdrawal was a horrible, horrible process, she knew, but she also knew what the recorded steps of it were. The worst of it was behind him. He was beyond a doubt the strongest, most perseverant and brave person she’d ever known. If anyone could beat this, he could. And now, she knew, he would. Still, he had been in a dark place, and certainly her continuing to intrude wouldn’t be welcome, even being as close as they were.

And so, Gwendolyn waited an entire two days to see him. Not that she’d left him alone, of course. She’d still made sure that baskets of food, potions, and teas were delivered regularly. Even if she wasn’t hovering around his office checking up on him, she had Cole pop by and make sure that Cullen was alive and well and still not taking lyrium. The spirit of compassion readily agreed, taking measures to ensure that the Commander never even noticed that he was there.

By day two of keeping her distance, the Commander reached out to her instead of the other way around. He asked her in a missive to meet him on the battlements, and so she’d readily agreed. She was, after all, rapidly falling for the man, and even two days of not seeing him and not hearing from him had been difficult for her.

She found him on a familiar section of the battlements, standing alone and staring off into the distance as the late afternoon sun illuminated the snow-covered mountains. He breathed in the crisp, clean mountain air, with what felt like new lungs. Though he was by no means over his withdrawal, he was well on the road to recovery. In fact, this was the best he’d felt in years. And for once, he actually felt at peace. And he knew precisely who to thank for his present condition.

As she approached him on the battlements, he turned to look at her, and said, “I wanted to thank you…when you came to see me…if there’s anything…” Cullen rubbed the back of his neck and looked away. “This sounded much better in my head.”

“I trust you’re feeling better?” asked Gwendolyn carefully.

“I…yes,” said Cullen.

“Is it always that bad?” she asked in concern.

“The pain comes and goes. Sometimes I feel as if I’m back there…I should not have pushed myself so far that day,” said Cullen.

“I’m just glad you’re all right,” said Gwendolyn.

“I am,” said Cullen as he turned back to the battlements and Gwendolyn joined him. The two stood comfortably beside one another as they looked out at the picturesque mountains beyond. “I’ve never told anyone what truly happened to me at Ferelden’s Circle. I was…not myself after that. I was angry. For years, that anger blinded me. I’m not proud of the man that made me. The way I saw mages…I’m not sure I would have cared for you, and the thought of that sickens me. Now I can at least put some distance between myself and everything that happened. It’s a start.”

“For what it’s worth, I like who you are now,” said Gwendolyn.

“Even after…” trailed off Cullen, looking at her, but trying to hide his surprise.

Gwendolyn touched his arm. “Cullen, I care about you. You’ve done nothing to change that.”

The Commander’s amber eyes were like molten sunshine as he looked at her. There were no words to describe how lucky he felt to have this amazing woman in his life. He really didn’t deserve her. “What about you? You have troubles of your own. How are you holding up?”

She blinked at him in surprise, taken aback by the question. No one ever bothered to ask her that. Everyone always just seemed to take it for granted that she was this powerful figure who always knew what to do and always got the job done. Nobody bothered to ask if the woman who until extremely recently hadn’t even been allowed to step outdoors was coping with becoming the leader of a movement and one of the most powerful people in Thedas.

“Honestly? I’m terrified. So many people depend on us. On _me_. Corypheus is still out there and everyone seems to confident that I’m going to find some miracle way to defeat him,” admitted Gwendolyn.

“We’ve made great strides. Do not doubt yourself—or the Inquisition—just yet. If there’s anything I can do, you have only to ask,” said Cullen, his voice gentle and reassuring.

Gwendolyn smiled at him and kissed him lightly on the cheek. “Thank you.”

“Of course, Gwen,” said Cullen as he kissed the top of her hand, his eyes never leaving hers. “Anything for you.”

\---

As it turned out, the reason we’d lost contact with our soldiers in the Fallow Mire was because most of our soldiers had been taken captive by the chief of a local Avaar tribe who was dead set on challenging the Herald of Andraste to mortal combat. Of all the reasons for our people to go missing, this had not even broken the top ten. Obviously, it was a bad idea for the Inquisitor to fight some Avvar tribal leader in a duel to the death. No one was arguing that. But our people were in danger and Gwendolyn was still pained over losing Stroud, so off we went to the swamp.

But naturally, nothing is ever as cut and dry as walking into a camp, fighting someone, and getting our people back. Of _course _not. That would be too easy. Instead, we arrived in the rainy swamp to discover that the local villages had been entirely wiped out due to a recent plague. And that the villagers now numbered themselves among the undead. So, not only were there Avvar that wanted to kill us, but now there were angry wisps, demons, and undead trying to get us too. So, you know, just a typical day for us.

And so, after fighting through an unbelievable number of the undead, getting soaked to the bone, and listening to Dorian complain about being in a swamp, we arrived at the old Fereldan fortress that the Avvar were using. We had to fight our way in through a horde of undead and then through a number of the Avvar, but eventually we were able to make it to the main throne room. The son of the Avvar chief—the man who had challenged Gwendolyn to a fight to the death—had four bodyguards on him, but that didn’t end up proving much of an obstacle. You see, we’d come prepared. Between the Inquisitor, Dorian, Iron Bull, Cassandra, Sera, and me, we were more than fine.

The Avvar having been defeated, we found all of our soldiers locked away in a nearby room. Most were unharmed and a few were injured, but they were all alive, and that was a welcome relief.

\---

A few days after our triumphant return from the rescue mission in the swamp, Gwendolyn stopped by her commander’s office, as she was often want to do.

“There you are,” said Cullen.

“Were you waiting for me?” she asked.

“Yes. I mean no,” said Cullen quickly.

“Well, I am sorry that I both have and have not kept you waiting then,” said Gwendolyn in amusement.

Cullen groaned. “Can I just start over?”  
“It’s a little late for that,” said Gwendolyn with a charmed smile.

“We have some dealings in Ferelden. I was hoping you might accompany me. When you can spare the time, of course,” said Cullen, sounding very much the professional.

“Is something wrong?” she asked.

“What? No. I would rather explain there. If you wish to go,” said Cullen. He was slowly turning red and not looking at her, and that alone was an indication that something was definitely afoot.

This was, in a word, suspicious. Still, the curiosity was going to eat away at her if she didn’t immediately get to the bottom of this. And beyond that, her commander only ever got flustered over one subject, and it certainly wasn’t security.

“I believe there’s time now,” said Gwendolyn.

Cullen nodded. “I will make the necessary arrangements.”

\---

There is a short list of extremely sappy romantic things to do with your sweetheart. Long walks on the beach, candlelit dinners—stuff like that. But as far as grand gestures go and making sure you get the girl, bringing her to a beautiful lake not far from where you grew up that has significance for you ranks pretty high up there.

It was just after sunset when they arrived at the small lake just outside of Honnleath and stood on the docks. The area was dominated by farmland and forests, but the lake was located just far enough away from the town to be quiet, calming, and serene.

“Where are we?” asked Gwendolyn finally. Her sense of direction was nonexistent—which I can attest to having traveled with her—and though she’d been through a fair amount of Ferelden at this point, she still didn’t know much about the place. She had been more than curious as to the purpose of this excursion, and the fact that they had yet to encounter any form of bandit, Venatori, Red Templar, dragon, wyvern, or rift was throwing her off guard. She knew how to handle _those _problems just fine. Whatever this mystery was, however, she was absolutely going into blind.

“You walk into danger every day. I wanted to take you away from that. If only for a moment,” said Cullen as he leaned against a post. “I grew up not far from here. This place was always quiet and peaceful.”

“Did you come here often?” asked Gwendolyn. He never really talked about his past.

“I loved my siblings, but they were very loud. I would come here to clear my head,” said Cullen as he looked wistfully out across the lake. “Of course, they always found me eventually.”

“You were happy here,” said Gwendolyn.

“I was. I still am,” said Cullen, fixing her with a small smile.

Given recent events, and now knowing what she did of his past, she had to ask. “Alone with a mage. That…doesn’t concern you?”

“The templars have rules on…fraternization, but I’m no longer bound by them,” said Cullen in amusement.

“I know, but…you’ve seen the worst mages have to offer. How can you not see that in me?” asked Gwendolyn. After all, she wasn’t exactly the most calm and in control mage in the world. Oh, she’d passed her Harrowing with flying colors, but her ice magic sometimes had a mind of its own, didn’t it? She’d even just recently frozen her quarters. She was unrepentant and unabashed when it came to her magic, and he’d seen the horrors that magic could cause…

“I don’t. If I’ve given you reason to doubt…” Cullen sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. “Of course I have.”

Gwendolyn rubbed her arm nervously.

“Whatever I fear of magic, I see none of that in you,” said Cullen gently.

The Inquisitor smiled up at him gratefully.

“The last time I was here was on the day I left for templar training,” said Cullen as he looked out over the water. He pulled a small silver coin with Andraste on it out of his pocket and held it in his palm for her to see. “My brother gave me this. It just happened to be in his pocket, but he said it was for luck. Templars are not supposed to carry such things. Our faith should see us through.”

“You broke the Order’s rules? I’m shocked,” said Gwendolyn teasingly.

“Until a year ago, I was very good at following them. Most of the time. This was the only thing I took from Ferelden that the templars didn’t give me,” said Cullen as he held up the coin and looked at it.

Gwendolyn looked from Cullen to the coin and back, trying to figure out where exactly this was going.

Cullen pressed the coin into her hand. “Humor me.”

Gwendolyn’s eyes grew wide as the enormity of the gesture hit her. This was the _only _thing he’d had with him this entire time. The only piece of his home. Something his brother had given him. The only thing he’d kept through all of his hardship and through all of the horrors of being a templar. And yet, he wanted her to have it.

As Gwendolyn’s hand curled protectively over the coin, Cullen placed his hand over hers. “We don’t know what you’ll face before the end. This can’t hurt.”

“I’ll keep it safe,” promised Gwendolyn. _Or die trying_, she didn’t add.

Cullen smiled fondly as he put his hand on her waist and pulled her towards him gently. “Good. I know it’s foolish, but…I’m glad.”

He kissed her then, and that kiss felt like more of a promise than any words that had been uttered that day. If nothing else, one thing had been made abundantly clear between the two of them—that this was not a passing, temporary flight of fancy. This was not a transient outlet during a time of war and heightened emotions. This wasn’t just because they were conveniently located to one another. No, this was the beginning of something much more long term, and much more serious. It was the first whispers of commitment, the first piece moved in a final strategy to win the game. And it was every bit as wonderful as the stories always made it seem. 

\---

Gwendolyn sat at her desk reading reports, staring at the old Andrastian coin on her desk, and sighing dreamily at it. She was, in all honestly, just that far gone. But there was one thing worrying her, and that one thing was her own clumsiness. Maker, she hadn’t trusted herself with her own phylactery, how could she trust herself with something so much smaller and so much more important? She refused to let it out of her sight, after all, so leaving it to the relative safety of her desk was out of the question.

A solution to her problem had evaded her for some time, but by late afternoon an idea had occurred to her. It was likely to be an odd request, but she was confident that it would put an end to this particular conundrum.

Harritt and Dagna both looked up in mild surprise when the Inquisitor entered. What could today’s request be? Armor? Weaponry? Did she want something enchanted?

“I’m not quite certain which one of you would be better to ask on the subject, but I would like your help concerning a matter of a somewhat personal nature,” prefaced the Inquisitor.

“What can I help you with, Inquisitor? New armor? A new blade for someone…special?” asked Harritt.

_Not him too,_ thought Gwendolyn. Had _everyone _heard?

In fact, yes, most people _had_ heard by that point. After all, you can’t just whisk a girl away to Honnleath without drawing at least _some _attention to yourself. Especially when said girl is the Inquisitor. That kind of cheesy romance made for excellent gossip around Skyhold. Whether or not people actually _believed_ it was something else entirely.

“Are you kidding? Getting that man to part from his sword would be like getting him to part from his arm. At any rate, it’s a largely unrelated matter,” prefaced Gwendolyn. 

“Is it about your hand? Do you need something enchanted? Did you find a fun rune?” asked Dagna eagerly.

Gwendolyn produced the coin from her pocket. “I need to not lose this and thought you two might be able to help.”

Dagna and Harritt walked over and looked at the small coin in the Inquisitor’s palm.

“That’s not a rune,” muttered Dagna as she wandered off to the other side of the room.

“Suppose I could make a casing for it, put it on a chain. Not much of a jewelry maker myself, but I could be convinced to try,” said Harritt.

“Can you make certain that it’s reversible? Just in case, uh, I need to remove it from the casing?” asked Gwendolyn.

Harritt snorted. “Of course I can. Come back tomorrow and I should have it all nice and ready for you, Inquisitor.”

Gwendolyn beamed. “Thank you, Harritt.”


	22. Skyhold Hosts a Party

Venatori activity had been spotted again back in the Exalted Plains, along with a dragon and a number of wyverns, so the Inquisitor and a number of us were shipped off to go deal with the situation. The Orlesians hadn’t stopped fighting amongst themselves and the continued presence of the Free Men of the Dales only complicated matters. Considering that we’d already wiped them out in the Plains once, more of them showing up was a bit curious. Clearly, they were coming somewhere, the only question was _where_.

We defeated the dragon—much to the Iron Bull’s delight—and we weeded out the Venatori and Free Men of the Dales. Again. The Inquisitor was clearly annoyed by this, having thought this matter rather settled. But then a miracle happened, and the Ambassador sent a polite request for her return, citing important business related to the upcoming mission at Halamshiral. Since Josephine so rarely requested anything and likely knew best with everything related to the nobility, the Inquisitor bowed to the Ambassador’s better judgment on the matter and we returned to Skyhold. After all, there must have been quite the emergency to recall us from an active war zone, right?

Needless to say, Gwendolyn was not pleased with the result.

“I’m sorry, you want to do what?” asked the Inquisitor blandly as they stood around the war table.

“It is imperative that when we attend the Empress’s ball at the Winter Palace, that we make a good impression. We _need _the support of the Orlesian nobility if we are to succeed and that means showing our best selves and playing the Game as they do,” said Josephine.

Cullen made a face. “Orlesians speak of assassinations and murder as if they were a joke.”

“Scoff at it all you want, Commander, but we play for the highest of stakes and to the death,” said Leliana. 

“Hmm, yes, espionage: the Orlesian national pastime,” said Cullen distastefully.

“In preparation for the ball, we must ensure that our people are ready and capable. Namely, we need to ensure that we are all…trained in the ways of Orlesian Court so as not to embarrass the Inquisition and ruin our chances at an alliance,” said Josephine.

“And to do that, you want to hold a dance…at Skyhold,” said Gwendolyn dubiously.

“Consider it a trial run for the Winter Palace. Accustom ourselves to the finery and manners that will be our chief weapons,” said Josephine.

“Soldiers and weapons will be our weapons, Ambassador. This is a military operation, not a social call,” said Cullen.

“Our end goal may be of a military nature, Commander, and our soldiers will have to be smuggled in as it is. Like it or not, we are not laying siege to a fortress this time, and so you must defer to _my _expertise for this matter,” said Josephine.

Faced with both Leliana and Josephine staring him down, Cullen had to grudgingly admit something akin to defeat. _Very_ grudgingly.

“Now, as I was saying, we must hold a fête of our own. It will be a formal event and everyone planning on attending the ball at the Winter Palace _must _be in attendance. We will need dancing lessons, lessons on etiquette, clothes—everything. Oh, there is much to prepare. With your permission, Inquisitor, I would like to hold the event in two weeks’ time. that should allow for my preparations to be completed, the guest list to be made, and lessons to be given,” explained Josephine excitedly.

Gwendolyn rubbed her forehead. “Fine. Do what you have to do.”

\---

To say that people took a shine to the idea of Josephine throwing a ball would have been an understatement, much to the surprise of everyone. No one had expected to like the idea of a party, but suddenly everyone did. Well, most everyone. There were a few notable holdouts. Even so, it got people talking in the best possible way. At least from a gossip standpoint. The decorations were already being put up in the great hall and already it was clear that this was going to be _quite _a party.

Beyond Josephine’s etiquette lessons for some of us, those planning to attend the party had to dress nicely. For some of us, that wasn’t an issue. For others of us who refused to put on a proper shirt or unstained tunic, it took a bit more work on Josephine’s part. Sera in particular didn’t much care to behave in a way that was up to the Ambassador’s standards of excellence, and that led to more than a few humorous conversations.

What also became clear early on was that people were bringing dates. Not the fruit and not everyone was planning to, but many were. And needless to say, that caused a problem or two. It was interesting to see how people began pairing off. Sera and Dagna were going together, whispering about pranks and explosions, much to the horror of both Cullen and Josephine. Iron Bull and Dorian casually were planning to attend together, which raised a few eyebrows but was expected considering how they’d been lately. Even Blackwall was escorting Josephine, confirming the suspicions of many. The list went on.

But certain other people who were _not _resolutely single, yet still didn’t have anything even resembling a date, were quietly not at all pleased with this turn of events.

“You’re hurting Josie’s feelings, you know,” said Gwendolyn as she frowned across the desk at her commander.

“I have far too much work to do without wasting time at a _party_,” scoffed Cullen.

“If anyone needs a break, it’s you,” said Gwendolyn.

“We need to find where the Freemen of the Dales are basing themselves and find Samson’s red lyrium source. There is no time for such frivolous nonsense,” said Cullen.

“Really. You don’t have even half an hour to put on something other than armor and attend the party Josie’s been slaving away at,” said Gwendolyn.

“Certainly not,” said Cullen as he returned to the report before him.

Gwendolyn regarded him for a long moment before saying, “You know, you might _feel _marginally better if you went. Bending over that desk and straining your neck only makes headaches worse.”

Cullen signed a report and moved it to a different pile. “Though I appreciate your attempt, there is nothing you could say to get me to attend that party, Gwen.”

She did her best to hide her disappointment by burying it beneath a nice thick layer of concern. “Fine, but you’re going to have to be the one to tell Josie, not me. And don’t think that I’m about to leave you completely alone with your work until Halamshiral. You are remembering to eat, right? And you’re sleeping?”

Cullen gave her a look. “I appreciate the concern, but I really have been feeling much better recently.”

“Rest and a healthy diet helps with that, you know. And occasionally _relaxing_,” said Gwendolyn.

“I will relax when the Empress is safe and Corypheus has been defeated,” said Cullen.

“I’m beginning to understand where the phrase ‘stubborn old mabari’ comes from,” frowned Gwendolyn.

“I’m not _that _old,” said Cullen.

Gwendolyn rolled her eyes but recognized a lost cause when she saw one. She had enough problems without spending half the day in a circular argument she was destined to lose. “Fine. Be stubborn about it. But when Josie gives you a hard time about it, don’t come crying to me.”

\---

“I ain’t gunna dance with no nobs,” said Sera resolutely.

“I doubt that they would wish to dance with you either, Sera,” said Dorian.

We’d all been dragged into dance rehearsal with Josephine and Leliana in the rotunda, much to Solas’s displeasure. His desk had been shoved to the side to make room for the dancing, after all. Somehow, he’d managed to escape the dancing. Or maybe that was payment for the use of his rotunda. Either way, the members of the Inner Circle, sans certain figures, had been shoved into the rotunda and made to learn to dance, with varying results.

“The waltz is the most fundamental and important dance in Orlesian Court. If you can master this, you will be able to master the others easily and navigate the ball with at least some success,” prefaced Josephine.

Cassandra made a disgusted noise.

“Master Pavus, as you have claimed previous mastery, perhaps you would be willing to assist in a demonstration?” asked Josephine.

“But of course, Lady Montilyet. I am, after all, an excellent dancer,” said Dorian.

This went on for some time, with Josephine using Dorian and Leliana interchangeably as demonstration partners. Meryden was there providing the necessary music while we all attempted to dance our way into Josephine’s good graces.

It was a half an hour or so later that the door from the outer bridge opened and Gwendolyn walked in carrying a stack of reports and paying more attention to the missives than the dance lessons.

“Inquisitor! Have you come to join us?” asked Josephine brightly.

“You know full well that I already know how to dance. Sadly, the paperwork is also unrelenting,” said Gwendolyn.

“I suppose you did not manage to convince the Commander to join either? He is bound to be very popular at the Winter Palace, you know,” said Josephine.

“Josie, I could tell that man that Corypheus’s defeat hinges on his attending your party and dancing and he would still refuse,” said Gwendolyn.

“He is not to attend?” gasped Josephine.

“You are _welcome_ to try and convince him otherwise, but I’m through wasting my breath on it,” said Gwendolyn as she crossed the rotunda into the great hall.

As the door shut closed behind her, I said, “Curly really did it this time. Anyone want to change their bets?”

“I do not think dancing is covered in templar training,” said Leliana as she and Josephine exchanged a conspiratorial look.

“I am sure the Orlesian nobility will delight in teaching him,” agreed Josephine wickedly.

\---

Josephine had pulled out all the stops for the party. Nobles from all over flitted about, delighting in the food and atmosphere. There were little cakes imported from Orlais, all matter of pastries from half of Thedas, the finest in Orlesian wine, and lively music to keep everyone entertained. It was, by all accounts, a grand success. But after all, what else but excellence could anyone conceivably expect of Lady Josephine Montilyet? Ruffles always knows how to throw a party.

The belle of the ball, however, was the Inquisitor. Maybe it shouldn’t have been a surprise that Princess could clean up so nicely. Maybe it shouldn’t have caused people to stop and stare as she glided by. But oh, did it ever. I always teased her that she was an ice princess, but all made up and dressed in the glittering white and silver gown that Josephine, Vivienne, and Leliana had bullied her into, Gwendolyn looked every inch as powerful and regal as she truly was.

Of course, that’s not to say that she let them dictate her _entire _outfit. Sure, she’d let Josephine and Vivienne pick the dress while Leliana chose shoes and did her hair, but Gwendolyn had picked her own jewelry. Besides a set of simple diamond earrings, she’d kept things simple. In fact, the only other jewelry she wore was a simple pendant on a silverite chain, and it was one that she never took off.

Needless to say, the visiting nobility were all over her. She took it all in stride, as was her way, and was unfailingly polite to all of the guests. She even took her turn dancing with a few of them, showing that she could navigate a dance floor just as expertly as she could a battlefield. She might have been internally screaming the entire time, but you never would have known. The mask of the Inquisitor was on in full force, as if any of us needed another reason to think she deserved the title. Clearly she’d come a long way from how she’d been in the beginning, stumbling her way through speaking to dignitaries and always speaking her mind. Coached by Leliana, Josephine, and experience, she’d learned the rules of engagement and turned that into skill at the Game. Somehow, without us noticing, she’d gone from naïve, jaded Circle mage to The Inquisitor, all quiet confidence and effortless grace.

Towards the end of the night, the Inquisitor finally managed to get a moment to breathe alone by the door to the rotunda and the food table. But, of course, her solitude was momentary.

“The corset constricts and squeezes in as much as their endless attention and empty, prying words. It wasn’t the Circle, but the templars were everywhere. Magisters, nobles, mortalitassis—all there for you but not for you. Freedom for a night, but never truly free. The faces are different, but the pain is the same. Hours spent getting ready and no one important to see,” said Cole as he appeared at her elbow.

Gwendolyn was one of the only ones who never managed to be shaken by his sudden appearances. “Hmm, so it would seem.”

“They wear smiles to hide their true intentions, and masks to hide from themselves,” said Cole.

“You don’t have to tell me that they’re duplicitous and untrustworthy, but thank you for the warning,” said Gwendolyn.

Cole cocked his head to the side and looked at her. “You smile but you’re not happy.”

“The world is ending, Cole. It’s difficult to be happy at the best of times,” said Gwendolyn.

“But that’s not why you’re not happy,” said Cole.

“Well, I’ve spent the past few hours being pestered by pushy nobles who want to use the Inquisition to their own ends, so that would do it,” said Gwendolyn.

Cole—spirit of compassion and helpless romantic—wanted to make people happy. And right now, the Inquisitor was not at all happy. Neither, for that matter, was the ex-templar who was locked away in his office doing work while everyone else attended a party. Cole might have been mostly spirit and only partly human, but he knew how to make people feel better. And what words people sometimes needed to hear.

“Safe and solid, protecting and proud, feels like quiet, stronger when you hold him,” said Cole.

Gwendolyn narrowed her eyes at him. “He didn’t _want_ to be here.”

“But neither do you,” said Cole.

The Inquisitor wrestled with the idea of picking up and leaving the party but knew that she shouldn’t. She had a duty to the Inquisition, after all, and it wouldn’t exactly look good if she just up and left. This was work. She didn’t have to enjoy it, but she did have to do it. And if that meant suffering through another half hour of this nonsense, then so be it.

Well, a half hour turned into an hour, but eventually it was socially acceptable for Gwendolyn to take her leave. And she did, sneaking a number of the best cakes and treats out with her.

The night was positively frigid as she hurried across the bridge to the Commander’s office, and her silken gown with off the shoulder sleeves provided _very _little warmth. Somehow the cold felt even worse after leaving the extreme warmth of the great hall, but at least the office was reasonably not cold.

Cullen was still sitting at his desk doing paperwork by candlelight. He’d dispensed with his armor and fur mantle and now wore a simple coat that didn’t look quite as much like it was swallowing him.

It was less the door opening and closing that indicated her arrival and more the smell of vanilla and sandalwood that seemed to follow her wherever she went. Well, that and that blast of cold and her wordless complaint of the temperature.

“Orlesian nobles not to your liking?” asked Cullen without looking up from his paperwork.

Gwendolyn hurried over to his desk and deposited the parcel of sweets on an empty bit of real-estate. “I know that I’m an ice mage, but it is very, _very _cold out there.”

“That does occasionally happen in the Frostback Mountains in _winter_,” said Cullen.

“At any rate, I brought you the fruits of Josephine’s labor, or at least which ones I could sneak out. Had you actually _attended _the party, you could have chosen your own,” said Gwendolyn.

“You didn’t need to,” said Cullen.

“I also didn’t need to dance with seemingly half the Orlesian nobility, but as there was no menacing ex-templar to scare them off, I was left to fend for myself,” said Gwendolyn.

“And I’m sure you handled yourself admirably,” said Cullen, who still hadn’t looked up.

Gwendolyn’s hopes of spending any time with her commander were dwindling by the second. The man seemed married to his work already. And here she was, all dolled up, and he was failing to notice.

“I trust your night was productive?” said Gwendolyn.

“Indeed it has been,” said Cullen.

“You may consider actually resting at some point,” said Gwendolyn.

“As the great hall is presently occupied with the majority of the Inquisition’s leadership and guests, I hardly see why _I_ ought to,” said Cullen.

“None of them are going through lyrium withdrawal,” said Gwendolyn.

“I told you that I feel fine,” said Cullen.

He still hadn’t looked at her since she’d walked in the room. He was either sick, distraught, or mad at her. And this had been enough of a pattern that she was inclined to believe the latter.

She fiddled with her hands and stepped away from the desk to go look at the bookcase. “You don’t have much of a tolerance for nobility, I know. I hope my title and, frankly, my abhorrent excuse for a family don’t…haven’t…upset you.”

Cullen was not mad at her. Not by a long shot. In fact, though he largely couldn’t admit it to himself, it was largely the Inquisitor that was concerning him. With Corypheus, Samson, and the Winter Palace, the Inquisitor was the one being thrown to the wolves and put in the path of danger, and the thought of that sickened him. He needed to make sure that he had done everything in his power to keep her safe and to give her the best possible chance of success.

He finally looked up and rubbed his face with his hands. “I hadn’t thought…I have no title outside of the Inquisition. I hope that doesn’t…_does_ that matter to you?”

She turned around to look at him. “To my horrible family, perhaps, but _theirs_ isn’t the opinion that matters. Of course, I don’t care.”

She was waiting for a response to that, but Cullen had finally turned to properly look at her and was all but speechless. For some reason, he hadn’t expected her to be dressed like that. Maybe it was because she otherwise never did. Maybe it was because he’d never seen her wear anything but armor or some form of enchanter’s coat. But as he looked at her, he felt his mouth run dry and all coherent thought escape him. All he knew was that she was the most beautiful sight he’d ever beheld and that he wanted to spend the rest of his life telling her that.

She felt a bit odd with him staring at her like that, so she decided to occupy herself with something else. She walked back over to the desk and unfolded the parcel she’d brought for him. “Anyway, as I was saying, I brought you a selection of the ones that _I _thought were best, but I’m no expert. So, there are raspberry tarts, these little chocolate things that I don’t really know what they are, but they were amazing when I ate four of them, a bunch of little cakes, sugar cookies, and these apple cinnamon things.”

Cullen didn’t pay attention to the list of delicacies she’d procured for him, because he’d caught sight of what she wore as a necklace. She’d had her choice of all manner of jewels and finery and instead…had turned his coin into a necklace?

“You’re not listening to a word I’m saying, are you?” asked Gwendolyn flatly.

Cullen stood up and fingered her necklace. “You made it a necklace?”

Gwendolyn was acutely aware of how close he was, of the warmth he radiated, and the heat of his gaze. Her breathing became shallow as she fumbled for a way to explain what she’d done to his treasured coin. “I, well, yes. I wanted to keep it with me, but I didn’t want to lose it, and I asked Harritt for help, and he came up with this, but he promised me that it would be reversible if you don’t like it I can have him take the coin out again I know I shouldn’t have done anything since it’s really yours and just on loan and—”

He silenced her babbling by pulling her into his arms and kissing her deeply. It was by no means a chaste kiss, or a short one for that matter. Despite all the time both of them spent working, and how preoccupied the Commander was with his duties, they both cared for each other. Well, more than just ‘cared for’ really. And the lack of contact was beginning to wear on both of them. These were stressful times, after all, and for them, being together made things…less stressful. Cullen adored this woman and with every passing day, with every minute he spent with her, he was falling even more for her.

As with many events, it was the after party that Gwendolyn found she most enjoyed.


	23. Dancing with Disaster

How to make the Inquisition’s commander uncomfortable:

Step 1: Force him into formal attire.

Step 2: Send him to Orlais.

Step 3: Send him to the Winter Palace to attend a masque ball.

Step 4: Inform the local nobility that he’s unmarried.

I can only imagine that’s exactly the process Josephine and Leliana used, given what happened. We’d barely even arrived in Halamshiral and already it was becoming clear which members of the Inquisition wanted to be there and which ones would rather die a thousand deaths and spend the rest of their existences physically in the Fade than attend a formal ball in Orlais.

We’d secured accommodations in a villa not terribly far from the Winter Palace, and as we settled in, the pre-party excitement also settled in. For some people.

“We’re here to protect the Empress and stop an assassination. Besides, didn’t we already agree that we’d all be in Inquisition uniforms?” said Gwendolyn, who had barely unpacked and yet had already been bullied into trying on a new dress. And this new dress, as it turned out, was not the demure, sparkling number she’d worn back at Skyhold. Oh no. The overall silhouette was more akin to those of Ferelden or the Free Marches, but the plunging neckline of the deep teal gown exposed most of her sternum and a fair amount of her chest, making Gwendolyn patently uncomfortable. And while the gold embroidery on it and the cut of the gown were both at the height of fashion and would have made most of the nobility at the ball drool, she preferred not to have anyone see that much of her.

“But you look so much better in this,” insisted Leliana.

“I don’t care how I look; I care about being able to move with any degree of ease,” said Gwendolyn.

“You could certainly move in that, and the dress would move in a lovely way. You will be quite the sight dancing at the palace,” said Josephine.

“I don’t need to be a sight. I’m there to do a job and leave, and I will do so in a uniform like the rest of you,” said Gwendolyn, crossing her arms both defiantly and protectively.

Leliana and Josephine exchanged a look, coming to a silent understanding. Leliana grabbed the Inquisitor and hauled her out of the room with Josephine leading the way, even as the Inquisitor protested. The three of them headed down the hall and down the main staircase into the library that the Commander was using as his field command center.

He was in the process of briefing some of his men when the three women shoved their way into the room, with the Inquisitor wishing for death. The soldiers’ eyes nearly bugged out and the Commander stopped midsentence to stare.

“Settle an argument for us, Commander. Would you not agree that the Inquisitor would look far superior in this dress at the Winter Palace than in a uniform?” said Leliana.

Cullen recognized a trap when he saw one, even if he did appreciate the view. “We are there to stop an assassination, and thus practicality must rule the day.”

“Thank you! Finally, the voice of pragmatism speaks,” said Gwendolyn.

“You are no help at all, Commander. We could have kept this going for at _least _another hour,” said Leliana with a smirk. “We even had three more dresses prepared. And I would wager that you in particular would appreciate at least one of them.”

Cullen was, in a word, unamused. He might have appreciated the dress on her, but whatever impact it might have had was utterly overshadowed by just how uncomfortable she seemed in the thing. Even if this _wasn’t _a military operation—which it was—he wouldn’t have recommended she wear it. And not just because he didn’t want anyone else lusting over her. Although the idea of someone having impure thoughts about _his_ Inquisitor and the Herald of _Andraste _irritated him to no end. 

“Was this a ruse? I am still quite certain that Duke Gaspard would be more inclined to assist the Inquisitor dressed as she is,” said Josephine. “Or perhaps in that dark blue one. Hmm, yes, I imagine he would be _most _inclined to assist us in that case.”

“Duke _Gaspard_ may very well be the one plotting to assassinate the Empress and I would rather he _not _have lewd thoughts about me. Now, if you will all excuse me, I’m going to go change,” declared Gwendolyn as she stalked out of the library.

Josephine followed closely behind, calling after her, “Would you at least consider wearing something that would complement your figure?”

“We will leave you to your meeting, Commander,” said Leliana with a wicked grin as she too slipped out of the room.

As the door clicked shut, the soldiers all turned to look at Cullen significantly.

“What are you looking at? Back to work,” snapped the Commander.

The officers exchanged an amused look, if only because the Commander was blushing slightly.

\---

The Winter Palace is objectively beautiful. It’s a massive castle and a testament to Orlesian architecture. It is every bit as opulent and awe inspiring as you might expect of the Orlesian royalty, with its grand ballroom, extensive gardens, bubbling fountains, gilded detailing, and a great deal of gold brocade.

Our soldiers had already been smuggled into the palace earlier in the day, so all that was left was for the rest of us to properly arrive. Some of us got there ahead of time, having not needed ten years to do our hair and wanting to get this over with. Others who spent time on their hair, but who were actually looking forward to this also got there early. It was the Inquisitor who dogged it arriving to the palace, mostly because she’d had to undo most of everything everyone else had done to her appearance.

She arrived through the front gates flanked by our soldiers and looking every inch the leader of a military organization in her uniform. She’d traded out the delicate image of an ice princess to one of fierce beauty and strength. That being said, her expression could certainly be described as frosty when she arrived.

Grand Duke Gaspard met her upon arrival, the epitome of Orlesian nobility and imperial upbringing. It was because of him that we’d secured invitations to the event on the condition that he escort the Inquisitor inside. Empress Celene was, after all, holding the party as a guise for peace talks between her, Gaspard, and Ambassador Briala, who’d been using her network of elven spies to sabotage both armies. Gaspard undoubtedly thought that having the Inquisitor on his arm would turn the tide in his favor.

“Inquisitor Trevelyan! It is an honor to meet you at last,” said Gaspard. “The rumors coming out of the Western Approach say you battled an army of demons. Imagine what the Inquisition could accomplish with the full support of the rightful Emperor of Orlais!”

Gwendolyn went for the diplomatic approach. “I can see many benefits to such an alliance.”

“Keep the image firmly in mind. We may see it materialize by the end of the evening,” said Gaspard. “I am not a man who forgets his friends, Inquisitor. You help me, I’ll help you. My lady, are you prepared to shock the court by walking into the Grand Ball with a hateful usurper? They will be telling stories of this into the next age.”

“I can’t imagine that crowd has been anything better than us in their entire lives,” said Gwendolyn. It came off as flattery, but it also dripped of sarcasm.

“You’re a woman after my own heart, my lady,” said Gaspard. If he noticed her tone, he didn’t mention it. “As a friend, perhaps there is a matter you could undertake this evening. This elven woman Briala—I suspect that she intends to disrupt the negotiations. My people have found these ‘ambassadors’ all over the fortifications. Sabotage seems the least of their crimes.”

“Tell me there’s more to your suspicion than ‘the elves were acting dodgy’,” said Gwendolyn dully.

As if she didn’t have enough shit to deal with already?

“That ‘ambassador’, Briala, used to be a servant of Celene’s. That is, until my cousin had her arrested for crimes against the empire to cover up a political mistake. If anyone in this room wishes Celene harm, Inquisitor, it’s that elf. She certainly has reason,” said Gaspard distastefully.

Gwendolyn nodded.

Gaspard sighed. “Be as _discreet_ as possible. I detest the Game, but if we do not play it well, our enemies will make us look like villains. Now, we’re keeping the court waiting, Inquisitor. Shall we?”

Gaspard went to wait for her inside the palace, leaving Gwendolyn to explore the gardens and find her own way in. She knew the night was going to be a long one when the first thing a passing noble commented on was the fact that she was a mage. Apparently, that was not common knowledge. Being nobility, even if it was only the _Free Marches _did only a little to redeem her in their eyes. She was going to have to work for the nobility’s approval. That much was certain.

“Is that the Inquisitor?” gasped a noblewoman.

“A mage? No, there must be some mistake,” said a nobleman in alarm.

“From the Circle of Ostwick, so they say,” said another noblewoman.

“A Marcher? The Maker has an odd sense of humor,” scoffed the first noblewoman.

Gwendolyn’s eye twitched when she heard that. Honestly, Orlesian nobility was the worst. So, instead of standing around outside and waiting to be further insulted, she headed in through the secondary gates and found Josephine waiting for her.

“Inquisitor, a moment, if you please?” said Josephine. “I must warn you before you go inside: how you speak to the court is a matter of life and death. It is no simple matter of etiquette and protocol. Every word, every gesture is measured and evaluated for weakness.”

“I’ll keep my guard up, don’t worry,” said Gwendolyn.

“The Game is like Wicked Grace played to the death. You must never reveal your cards. When you meet the empress, the eyes of the entire court will be upon you. You were safer in the Fade with the fear demon,” said Josephine.

“It might be a good idea for the others to hear this warning. Especially Sera. Maybe tell her twice,” said Gwendolyn.

“I’ll have a few…discreet words,” said Josephine. “Everything will be fine.”

With that, the two of them headed up in through the main palace doors and into the vestibule. There they met the rest of Inquisition command, half of whom already looked miserable. But hey, at least we looked good in our fancy uniforms.

“Well, this is shaping up to be quite the evening,” said Gwendolyn as she approached us.

Cassandra made a disgusted noise. “It is tedious and unnecessary.”

“I quite agree. Let’s save the Empress and get out of here,” said Cullen.

Blackwall grunted his agreement. The three wore identical looks of displeasure and all had their arms crossed. Iron Bull’s Ben-Hassrath training was working on overdrive as he surveyed the room, assessing every aspect of it. Dorian was just looking around for the alcohol and food table, feeling that this was a bit reminiscent of home. Vivienne, Solas, and Leliana all seemed to be entirely in their element, oddly enough. Sera seemed to be torn between hating everything and delighting at the idea of pranking _everyone_. Cole seemed overwhelmed. And as for me, I was thinking about having a word with my publisher, seeing as I apparently _do _have a following in Orlais, even though my _publisher _told me otherwise.

“We will have allies among some of the other guests, Inquisitor. I will explain more after they are presented,” said Leliana.

“Then let’s rip off the bandage, shall we? My face already hurts from smiling too much,” said Gwendolyn.

With that, we all followed after Gwendolyn as she met Gaspard by the doors to the ballroom. He led her in on his arm and we found ourselves in the Grand Ballroom of the Winter Palace: a massive two-story room adorned with only the finest of frescos, stonework, metalwork, and gilded accent. The room was already packed with nobles as the steward directed us towards the main staircase. Across the ballroom, standing on the balcony overlooking the dancefloor was Empress Celene and Grand Duchess Florianne, both adorned in all of their regal finery.

And so, we were announced. First Gaspard was announced, then Gwendolyn was announced. And damn did they give her a lot of titles. He just kept listing them off to the point where she and Gaspard had already made it three-quarters of the way across the room by the time he was done. Their announcement was followed by Cullen, Leliana, and Josephine, and then all of the rest of us.

We weren’t important enough to properly meet the Empress, so we all stood a fair way back as she and Gaspard greeted the Empress officially.

“Cousin. My dear sister,” said Gaspard.

“Grand Duke. We are always honored when your presence graces our court,” said Celene.

“Don’t waste my time with pleasantries, Celene. We have business to conclude,” said Gaspard impatiently.

“We will meet for the negotiations after we have seen to our other guests,” said Celene calmly.

Gaspard bowed dramatically. It was either sarcastic or overly Orlesian, and I still don’t know which. At any rate, he wandered off into the ballroom after that.

“Lady Inquisitor, we welcome you to the Winter Palace,” said Celene. “Allow us to present our cousin, the Grand Duchess of Lydes, without whom this gathering would never have been possible.”

Florianne curtseyed. “What an unexpected pleasure. I was not aware the Inquisition would be part of our festivities. We will certainly speak later, Inquisitor.”

“Your arrival at court is like a cool wind on a summer’s day,” said Celene dramatically.

“I am delighted to be here, Your Majesty,” said Gwendolyn.

“We have heard much of your exploits, Inquisitor. They make grand tales for long evenings,” said Celene. “How do you find Halamshiral?”

“I’ve never seen anything to equal the Winter Palace,” said Gwendolyn.

“We hope you will find time to take in some of its beauties,” said Celene. “Feel free to enjoy the pleasures of the ballroom, Inquisitor. We look forward to watching you dance.”

With that, Gwendolyn bowed and left the dancefloor for the upper balcony. The night had only just begun and already she was ready for it to be over.

Leliana met her on the upper floor and positioned them by the balcony overlooking the dancefloor and the nobles being presented after us. “We can speak more once they arrive, but I took the liberty of…convincing some of our more influential allies to attend the ball. They always receive an invitation to Celene’s parties, mostly out of obligation, but in this instance, it is a mutually beneficial arrangement. They have a vested interest in Celene remaining on the throne, and so they’ve agreed to help in any way they can.”

“Are they your contacts in the Council of Heralds? More bards…?” wondered Gwendolyn.

“Far better. They are something for the Orlesians to be distracted by instead of you. Their presence should allow you to navigate the palace more freely while they…cause a scene,” said Leliana.

“You want to cause a scene? I’m shocked,” said Gwendolyn.

Leliana smirked. “I am afraid that you may not be the only notable attendee tonight, Inquisitor; you’re just the least…offensive.”

“Offensive?” asked Gwendolyn in confusion.

“Yes, to the Orlesians, the entire kingdom is offensive, and its people are only _just _civilized,” said Leliana.

Before Gwendolyn could continue to play Twenty Questions with Nightingale over who her mystery allies were, the steward loudly announced the guests in question, much to the astonishment of the court.

“Now presenting, His Royal Majesty, King Alistair Theirin of Ferelden, Champion of Redcliffe, Former Grey Warden of Ferelden, Veteran of the Fifth Blight, and King of Ferelden. And accompanying him, Her Majesty, Queen Flora Elethea Cousland Theirin of Highever, Hero of Ferelden, Champion of Redcliffe, Warden-Commander of Ferelden, Arlessa of Amaranthine, Slayer of the Archdemon, Veteran of the Fifth Blight, Commander of Ferelden’s forces, and Queen Consort of Ferelden,” announced the steward.

The King and Queen of Ferelden looked like they belonged on the pages of a storybook or in a snow globe, they were so perfect. Yes, even for Fereldans, they looked exactly how you would imagine a young king and queen to look in all their regal finery. Queen Flora’s scarlet and gold gown in particular became the subject of a great deal of discussion. But to many of the Orlesians in the room, their fashions were the least shocking thing about them, judging by the range of reactions in the room. Oh, there had been rumors that the Hero of Ferelden was back with a vengeance. There had definitely been rumors to that effect. But sometimes seeing really is believing. And the Theirin and Cousland names still left a sour taste in the mouths of many Orlesians. 

“As I said, Inquisitor, we will have powerful allies among the other guests here tonight,” said Leliana.

“You might have mentioned that the King and Queen of Ferelden would be here,” said Gwendolyn, frowning at her spymaster.

“It took quite some convincing to persuade them to come. I did not wish to inform you until I was certain,” said Leliana.

“Fair enough,” allowed Gwendolyn.

“I will go speak with them. Come find us when you are ready,” said Leliana as she melted into the crowd.

Gwendolyn mingled for what was likely only a few minutes, but for what felt like an eternity. She had a job to do, dammit, and did not rightly _care_ about the latest trends in Orlesian women’s hat fashions. The answer was phoenix feathers, obviously, but _still_.

It seemed to take forever just to politely schmooze her way through the room and reach the balcony overlooking the gardens that the Fereldans had secured for themselves, complete with a handful of members of the royal guard about the door. The king and queen were there with Leliana, the three of them chatting like the old friends that they were.

“Ah, there’s your Inquisitor, Leliana. And look, she looks so _happy _to be here,” said Queen Flora.

Alistair crossed his arms and shot Leliana a look of resentment. “I was promised rare, expensive cheese. You’d better deliver on that, Inquisition.”

“Taking bribes now, dear husband? Did you become a crooked politician when I wasn’t looking?” asked his queen in fond amusement.

“Your Majesties,” acknowledged Gwendolyn politely.

“Inquisitor. So, we hear someone’s trying to assassinate the empress,” said Alistair.

“Pity,” said Flora.

“Leliana has assured me that the two of you may be able to assist in this matter…?” asked Gwendolyn uncertainly, looking at Leliana.

“Assist meaning helping to off Celene or assist as in stopping that from happening?” replied Flora.

“We want to stop that from happening,” said Gwendolyn.

“As do we. Ferelden and Orlais have a long history of violence and there is certainly no love lost between us, but Celene is the lesser evil. The evil you know, and all that,” said Alistair.

“Gaspard fought in the war with Ferelden and if he takes Celene’s throne, he will renew his aggressions towards us. And as much as I would _love _to continue the family tradition of wiping the floor with the Orlesian army both at land and sea, I would sooner _not _have to fight another war,” said Flora.

“Which is why they will help when and if we need them. You will undoubtedly need to leave the ballroom tonight and having the infamous dog lords with famous pasts here to act as a distraction will be invaluable,” said Leliana.

“Should have brought Brutus. That would have made for a good distraction,” mused Alistair.

“I married a genius,” said Flora.

Alistair snorted.

“At any rate, we must begin the hunt for the assassin. What did the duke say?” asked Leliana.

“He points the finger at Ambassador Briala,” said Gwendolyn.

“The ambassador is up to something, but she can’t be our focus. The best place to strike at Celene is from her side. Empress Celene is fascinated by mysticism—foreseeing the future, speaking with the dead, that sort of rubbish,” began Leliana. “Celene has an ‘occult advisor’. An apostate who charmed the empress and key members of the court as if by magic. I—we—have had dealings with her in the past. She is ruthless and capable of anything.”

Alistair wrinkled his nose. “And here I thought the only insults I’d be receiving were passive aggressive ones from Orlesians. She’s had a decade to think up new ones.”

“How can Celene openly have an apostate in the Imperial Court?” wondered Gwendolyn.

“The Imperial Court has always had an official position for a mage. Before now, it was little better than court jester. Vivienne was the first to turn the appointment into a source of real political power. When the Circles rebelled, technically every mage became an apostate. The word lost much of its strength,” said Leliana.

“Morrigan as a court jester. Now there’s an image,” said Flora in amusement.

“Not in our Court, thanks,” muttered Alistair.

“That sounds exactly like the person we’re looking for,” said Gwendolyn.

“She’s worth investigating. Can’t be sure of anything here. Both leads point toward the guest wing. It’s a promising place to start,” said Leliana. “I’ll coordinate with our spies to see if I can find anything better. I will be either here or the ballroom if you need me.”

“And it’s worth noting that the apostate in question is smart. Very, very _smart._ If she isn’t behind all of this, she likely has an idea of who _is_,” said Flora.

“She doesn’t even like mabari or nugs. What kind of monster doesn’t like mabari or nugs?” said Alistair.

“Who exactly is she? How do all of you know her?” asked Gwendolyn.

“She was with us during the Blight. She started off as just an apostate from the Korcari Wilds who insulted Alistair all the time, but it turned out she was just using us to further her own agenda and it’s all been downhill from there. She disappeared after the Battle of Denerim. I…ran into her again a few years later, but since then, nothing,” said Flora.

“Oh. Pleasant,” said Gwendolyn.

“My advice? And don’t take offense to this as a mage, but never trust the apostate. I am two for two in that department and so is Hawke. Albeit there’s overlap and she married Anders in the end, but still,” said Flora.

Oh, if only we had known just how true that was. Queenie saw it clear as day before any of us could even possibly suspect it. Ah, but everything is always clearer in hindsight, isn’t it?

“I’ll…keep that in mind,” said Gwendolyn.

“And be careful around her, Inquisitor. Assume she’s five steps ahead of you at all times and never let your guard down,” said Flora.

Gwendolyn nodded politely and returned to the ballroom.

“Do you really think Morrigan is behind this?” asked Alistair, glancing at the other two.

“Do I believe that she manipulated Celene in order to further her own personal agenda? Do I believe that she’s at least marginally in control of events here?” said Leliana.

“After what she did during the Blight and after, I wouldn’t put anything past her,” said Flora.

“Still, assassinations aren’t exactly her speed. Not enough maniacal laughter involved or puppies to kick,” said Alistair.

“We expect Venatori agents and Corypheus’s spies to be the ones behind it. Morrigan is unlikely to be one of them, but she must know something. The coincidence is too great otherwise. The empress’s death would throw the empire into chaos. And as chaos is what Corypheus desires, we must consider those close to the empress who are likely to be spies working for Corypheus,” said Leliana.

“At least he doesn’t have a demon army,” said Alistair.

“And I should note that, given his goals, you both also present quite the target,” said Leliana.

Alistair’s arm around his wife’s waist tightened slightly.

“We’re not defenseless, Leliana. I would hardly walk into an Orlesian palace _unarmed_, now, would I? Besides, that’s what the royal guard is for. Worry about the empress and your Inquisitor. We’ll take care of ourselves,” said Flora.

Leliana nodded and returned to the ballroom.

\---

Gwendolyn was beginning to understand why in Orlais the bards were all spies. She’d only been at the ball for a little while and already she’d done more than her fair share of chatting, schmoozing, eavesdropping, secret gathering, and espionage. Already she knew more about the personal lives and scandalous secrets of the Orlesians than she’d ever hoped of knowing. She’d even managed to listen in on a conversation between two elven servants who were clearly serving Briala and discern some of their plans. She hated every second of it. And what’s more, she hated at how good she was getting at it.

She headed out into the gardens, only to run into Empress Celene’s ladies in waiting. The women cornered her and in the most politely Orlesian way possible, offering an alliance with Celene should the usurper Gaspard be defeated that night. They were there on behalf of the empress herself, who naturally could not meet with the Inquisitor directly because she was too important. Still, it was reassuring to know that whether Gaspard or Celene would sit on the throne at the end of the evening, both would be willing to support the Inquisition.

After finding a metal cylinder containing drop off locations and movements meant for Briala’s people, Gwendolyn turned her attention to the guest wing. Naturally, it was only accessible through the library, so she’d subtly suggested to Sera that she unlock the library door for her, and then gone about her snooping alone. No one bothered to notice that any of this was happening, considering that the King of Ferelden was loudly debating Fereldan and Orlesian cheeses with a number of noblemen, which was causing something of a fuss.

The library was dimly lit and overlooked the Hall of Heroes on the floor below. Even so, Gwendolyn hurried through, grudgingly managing to uncover a few more scandalous secrets in the process. At the other end of the hall was a set of doors leading to the arcane advisor’s study, and that’s where the investigation really began. First of all, there was a secret door leading into the woman’s office. Second of all, she had to use veilfire to solve a puzzle involving urns of long dead emperors of Orlais to access the advisor’s secret vault and snoop around there.

The vault revealed little more than the advisor’s clear predilection towards rare magical artifacts, and so, Gwendolyn decided to snoop around the office instead. Beyond the altogether creepy interior decorating, rare artifacts, urns, and other odd magical nonsense, Gwendolyn’s search of the desk turned up a letter from Celene to the advisor. Celene apparently knew that she was in danger within the palace from magical forces and suspected Gaspard of treachery. She’d written to the advisor, whom she called Lady M, to assist and protect her.

Leaving the office and adjoining rooms, she turned her search of the upper garden balcony and side rooms. Investigation into one of the side rooms revealed negotiations between Celene and Gaspard that had been stolen by Briala’s people. Apparently, Briala had been stealing negotiations for some time now, sending inflammatory remarks in their place. Obviously, she had a keen interest in keeping the two of them at war. The stolen negotiations had not only suggested that Celene and Gaspard might be of like minds in certain aspects, but that they both agreed that Briala was not to be trusted.

Before Gwendolyn could continue her snooping, the first bell signaling a return to the ballroom was sounded. The Inquisitor knew that she needed to return on the second bell on pain of losing what little approval she had managed to scrape up, and so she hurried her way back through the library and out to the vestibule, at which point she calmly and casually made her way to the ballroom. She ended up being fashionably late, much to her relief.

She had no sooner entered the ballroom than a voice like poisoned wine greeted her. “Well, well, what have we here?”

Gwendolyn turned to see a terrifyingly beautiful woman with jet black hair, golden eyes, and a peculiar fashion sense descending the stairs towards her. “The leader of the new Inquisition, fabled Herald of the faith. Delivered from the grasp of the Fade by the hand of Blessed Andraste herself.” The woman circled Gwendolyn like a panther sizing up her prey or a snake moving in for the kill. “What could bring such an exalted creature here to the Imperial Court, I wonder? Do even you know?”

Gwendolyn crossed her arms. “I’m here on important business concerning the entire empire.”

“As am I, it seems,” said the woman. “I am Morrigan. Some call me advisor to Empress Celene on matters of the arcane.”

_Ah,_ thought Gwendolyn_, that Morrigan_.

Morrigan began walking along and Gwendolyn fell into step with her as the witch began to talk. “You have been very busy this evening, hunting in every dark corner of the palace. Perhaps you and I hunt the same prey.”

“I hope so. I could use another ally here,” said Gwendolyn.

“A sentiment I share, considering recent events,” said Morrigan.

Probably somewhere on the other side of the ballroom, Leliana, Flora, and Alistair were all groaning in frustration.

“Recent events?” asked Gwendolyn, raising an eyebrow.

“Recently I found, and killed, an unwelcome guest within these very halls. An agent of Tevinter. So, I offer you this, Inquisitor: a key found on the Tevinter’s body,” said Morrigan as she handed an ornate key over to Gwendolyn. “Where it leads, I cannot say. Yet if Celene is in danger, I cannot leave her side long enough to search. You can.”

“You left Celene alone? Is that wise?” asked Gwendolyn.

“I must return to her anon, but she is safe enough…for the moment,” said Morrigan. “‘Twould be a great fool who strikes at her in public, in front of all her court and the imperial guard.”  
“What’s your interest in protecting Empress Celene? Are you her bodyguard?” asked Gwendolyn.

Morrigan laughed. “Do I seem a bodyguard to you? If anything were to happen to Celene, eyes would turn first to her ‘occult advisor’. Even if they knew otherwise. There are sharks in the water, and I will not fall prey to them. Not now, not ever.”

“Why did you kill the agent? He might have had useful information,” said Gwendolyn.

“I would not have slain the man on sight, had he not attacked me first,” said Morrigan. “Why? Undoubtedly I caught him in an illicit act. I did not know from whence he came until after the battle, and regret only that I could not capture him alive. What intentions the Imperium has here I suspect you know far better than I.”

“If you truly want answers, help me find them,” said Gwendolyn.

“I already told you: I must return to protect the Empress. Proceed with caution, Inquisitor. Enemies abound, and not all of them aligned with Tevinter,” said Morrigan. “What comes next will be most exciting.”

Morrigan left Gwendolyn alone then, and the Inquisitor found that she understood why she’d been warned so emphatically about that woman. There was something terribly snakelike about Morrigan, and Gwendolyn didn’t trust her as far as she could throw her. And her upper body strength wasn’t that great. Still, they at least _seemed _to be on the same side, at least in terms of protecting the Empress, so for now she would accept a tentative alliance. Still, she knew better than to trust her.

And so, Gwendolyn proceeded to make her way through the ballroom, intent on relating everything she’d learned to Leliana, particularly the blackmail worth secrets.

In the process of navigating the ballroom, however, she found her progress impeded by a veritable horde of noblewomen and noblemen surrounding the Commander. The Inquisitor was instantly annoyed and had to politely shove her way through the drooling masses to reach her extremely uncomfortable commander.

“Smile, Commander! You’re so handsome when you smile!” cooed a noblewoman.

“He’s just as handsome when he doesn’t,” said a nobleman.

“Commander, has anyone ever told you that you have the most remarkable eyes?” gushed a noblewoman.

“Several times this evening, actually,” replied Cullen. 

“You must dance with me, Commander! You cannot stand about all evening,” whined a noblewoman.

“I’m afraid not, thank you,” said Cullen.

“You have such beautiful hair, Commander,” said a man.

“Thank you,” said Cullen.

“Do you enjoy music, Commander?” asked a young noblewoman.

“Everyone enjoys music, madam,” said Cullen.

It was right about then that Gwendolyn managed to break through the crowd and appear at his side.

“Inquisitor! Did you need something?” asked Cullen, his relief practically tangible. “The sooner we track down this infiltrator, the better.”

“You’ve attracted quite a following. Who are all these people?” asked Gwendolyn with a frown as her gaze swept of the horde.

“I don’t know, but they won’t leave me alone,” said Cullen tiredly.

“Not enjoying the attention, then?” asked Gwendolyn.

“Hardly. Anyway, yours—” the Commander cleared his throat and lowered his voice— “Yours is the only attention worth having.”

Gwendolyn felt her face flush and her heart skip a beat at that. “Have you managed to see anything suspicious through this crowd?”

“Not yet, I’m afraid. It would be easier if people would stop talking to me. Other people. Not you,” said Cullen.

“I don’t suppose you’d save a dance for me? Once we’ve saved the Empress, naturally,” said Gwendolyn hopefully. 

“No, thank you,” said Cullen.

Gwendolyn felt like she’d just been stung. “Oh.”

Cullen seemed to realize what he’d just said, and who he’d said it to. “No! I didn’t mean to—Maker’s Breath! I’ve answered that question so many times I’m rejecting it automatically. I’m not one for dancing. The templars never attended balls.”

“All right then. Hang in there,” said Gwendolyn as she touched his arm lightly.

He nodded to her and she melted back into the crowd.

“Are you married, Commander?” asked another nobleman.

“Not yet, but I am…already taken,” said Cullen, his eyes following Gwendolyn through the crowd. 

That led to more than a few gasps and whispers among his admirers, as well as some wild speculation as to his paramour’s identity.

Gwendolyn found Leliana standing by a table in the ballroom with the King and Queen of Ferelden.

“So many crimes of fashion,” scoffed Leliana.

“How fairs the war, Inquisitor?” asked Flora.

“My skin is still crawling from meeting that Occult Advisor,” said Gwendolyn candidly.

“Morrigan has that effect on people,” said Alistair.

Gwendolyn turned to Leliana. “I’ve overheard a few blackmail worthy secrets if you’re interested.”

“I most certainly am. We can turn this to our advantage here at Court,” said Leliana, her eyes lighting up wickedly.

“I notice your commander’s rather popular tonight. You might turn that to your advantage as well,” said Flora.

Gwendolyn pressed her lips into a fine line.

“The Court has yet to realize that you two are involved. I would advise against staking your claim publicly. It might alienate potential allies,” said Flora.

“I’m not…how…it’s not…” spluttered Gwendolyn.

Flora looked at her flatly. “Inquisitor, I have been in your position before. I too was fighting a war while sighing after a blond ex-templar from Ferelden who’s endearingly awkward. The difference being that giving nobles the false impression that they might have a crown in no way would have helped us with the Blight. Well, it might have, but I wasn’t about to let _Anora _of all people steal my guy away from me.”

“No one ever could,” said Alistair. He smiled fondly at his wife as if she were the dead center of the world.

Flora returned his smile and kissed him on the cheek.

“Her point is to be less obvious here. Not only can we use their infatuation to our advantage, but it would be unwise to reveal your hand to those also playing the Game. You do not know who might seek to use the information against us,” said Leliana.

With that, Gwendolyn left the ballroom and began the process of tracking down Blackwall, Dorian, and me. There were infiltrators in the palace, we knew that a Tevinter spy had already been killed and attacked someone, so now it was time to snoop around…while armed. And with help. And so, that’s how we found ourselves armed to the teeth and back in our armor…in the servant’s quarters.

I understand that there was quite the scandal while all this happened, what with an unknown stranger saying that Corypheus had an Archdemon and the Queen of Ferelden going on a loud rant to educate the masses on the difference between an Archdemon and whatever the fuck Corypheus had in his employ, which then somehow became a lively recounting of the Battle of Denerim.

We nearly tripped over a corpse crossing the threshold into the kitchen. Further investigation revealed that all of the servants had been slaughtered in their beds and in the kitchens. Clearly whoever was behind this knew about Briala’s spy network and wanted them out of the picture. But that wasn’t the only shocking discovery in that wing of the palace.

Leaving the servants’ quarters and kitchens, we headed outside and found ourselves in the gardens outside of the Grand Apartments. And because the night needed to get worse, we found a messenger from the Council of Heralds stabbed to death by the fountain with a dagger with the Chalons family crest on it.

“Well, shit,” I said.

“Don’t you think it’s rather sloppy to leave your own dagger at a crime scene like this?” said Gwendolyn.

“Either Duke Gaspard is behind this, or he is being framed. Regardless, this doesn’t look good,” said Blackwall.

There came a scream from the gardens to the left and we all turned to see a bloodied servant running towards us…only to be cut down by, I shit you not, a harlequin carrying double daggers. The harlequin was, naturally, accompanied by a number of Venatori. And because this was just how our night was going, the harlequin ran off onto a balcony in the Grand Apartments while the Venatori attacked us.

As the Venatori clearly knew we were coming, we headed off into the Grand Apartments in search of the harlequin, all the while swearing enough to make Sera proud. We cut in through the dining room and immediately ran into another ambush of Venatori agents. We dispatched them easily enough and then ran upstairs, at which point we ran into the harlequin from before and even _more _Venatori agents.

Blackwall had only just dispatched the harlequin when an Orlesian voice pierced through the silence. We all turned to see Briala stab a runaway Venatori agent and then appear to stand facing us in the hallway.

“Fancy meeting you here,” said Briala as she strolled over to stand by the balcony near us. “Inquisitor Trevelyan. What a surprise! No doubt the nobility will be missing the opportunity to dance with you. We haven’t been properly introduced, have we? I’m Ambassador Briala.”

Gwendolyn’s eye twitched. “I’m glad to meet you finally, Ambassador.”

“Your reputation for getting results is well deserved. You cleaned this place out. It will take a month to get all the Tevinter blood off the marble. I came down to save or avenge my missing people, but you’ve beaten me to it,” said Briala. “So…the Council of Heralds’ emissary in the courtyard…that’s not your work, is it?”

“He was dead when I arrived,” said Gwendolyn irritably.

“I expected as much,” said Briala. “You may have arrived with the Grand Duke, but you don’t seem to be doing his dirty work. I knew he was smuggling in chevaliers, but killing a council emissary? Bringing Tevinter assassins into the palace? Those are desperate acts. Gaspard must be planning to strike tonight.”

“I’m not sure it’s actually Gaspard. He wants the throne for himself, not to hand it over to the Venatori. Besides, for a man contemplating treason to this extent, he’s seemed remarkably calm and relaxed. His own soldiers I would believe, but not this. But at any rate, the Empress needs to know what’s going on,” said Gwendolyn.

“You can try to warn her. She won’t believe anything from me,” said Briala. “I misjudged you, Inquisitor. You might just be an ally worth having. What could you do with an army of elven spies at your disposal? You should think about it.”

“You know how to make a sales pitch, Ambassador. I’ll give you that,” said Gwendolyn dryly.

“I do, don’t I? I know which way the wind is blowing. I’d bet coin that you’ll be part of the peace talks before the night is over. And if you happen to lean a little bit our way? It…could prove advantageous to us both. Just a thought,” said Briala.

And with that, she leapt off the balcony into the night.

Gwendolyn’s eye twitched as she watched the elf disappear into the gardens. _Bloody Orlesians_.

“Does it seem strange that every single person at this party has tried to bribe us?” said Blackwall.

“The Orlesians can call it the Game, but that was personal hate right there,” I said.

“Dangerous machinations, personal vendettas, spiced wine—makes me a little homesick,” said Dorian as he brushed an imaginary tear from his eye.

We left the Grand Apartments then and returned to the palace proper, making sure to change back into our fancy party clothes in the process. We returned just as the bells began ringing again to summon people back to the ballroom, and so we once again were fashionably late by the second bell.

Gwendolyn had barely made it five feet through the door before she was confronted by Grand Duchess Florianne.

“Inquisitor Trevelyan, it is a pleasure to finally meet you. We met briefly. I am Grand Duchess Florianne de Chalons. Welcome to my party,” said the Grand Duchess with a curtsy.

“Is there something I can do for you, Your Grace?” asked Gwendolyn. She had neither the time nor the patience for this. Not when there was a murderer somewhere in the ballroom.

“Indeed you can,” said Florianne. “I believe tonight you and I are both concerned by the actions of…a certain person. Come, dance with me. Spies will not hear us on the dance floor.”

“Very well, Your Grace,” said Gwendolyn politely, though internally screaming.

As the dance began, Florianne struck up an incredibly Orlesian conversation.

“You are from the Free Marches, are you not? How much do you know about our little war?” asked Florianne.

“My advisors keep me informed,” said Gwendolyn. She did not mention travesty and devastation that was the Exalted Plains. She felt the Dalish would likely disagree with the destruction of their homeland being classified as a ‘little war’.

“One would hope the Inquisition’s leaders had a proper understanding of politics,” said Florianne. “It took great effort to arrange tonight’s negotiations. Yet one party would use this occasion for the blackest treason. The security of the empire is at stake. Neither one of us wishes to see it fall.”

“Do we both want that, Lady Florianne?” said Gwendolyn.

“I hope we are of one mind on this,” said Florianne.

“In times like these, it’s hard to tell friend from foe, is it not, Your Grace?” said Gwendolyn.

“I know you arrived here as a guest of my brother, Gaspard. And have been everywhere in the palace. You are a curiosity to many, Inquisitor…and a matter of concern to some,” said Florianne.

“Am I the curiosity or the concern to you, Your Grace?” said Gwendolyn.

“A little of both, actually,” said Florianne.

Gwendolyn was truly struggling not to roll her eyes or just shake the woman and demand she get to the point. All of this dancing around, both literally and figuratively, was driving her utterly insane.

“This evening is of great importance, Inquisitor. I wonder what role you will play in it,” said Florianne. “Do you even yet know who is friend and who is foe? Who in the court can be trusted?”

“An excellent question. I might ask the same of you, Your Grace,” said Gwendolyn.

“In the Winter Palace, everyone is alone,” said Florianne. “It cannot have escaped your notice that certain parties are engaged in dangerous machinations tonight.”

Gwendolyn wanted to scream. Certain parties? _Certain parties_? Fucking everyone was up to no good, following their own agenda at the damn Winter Palace!

“I thought ‘dangerous machinations’ were the national sport in Orlais,” said Gwendolyn.

“You have little time. The attack will come soon. You must stop Gaspard before he strikes,” said Florianne as the dance neared its end. “In the royal wing garden, you will find the captain of my brother’s mercenaries. He knows all Gaspard’s secrets. I’m sure you can persuade him to be forthcoming.”

“We’ll see what the night has in store, won’t we?” said Gwendolyn as the dance ended.

With that, she stalked up the stairs and promptly ran into Josephine.

“You’ll be the talk of the court for months. We should take you dancing more often,” said Josephine.

“I’m fine with dancing, just not with Corypheus,” said Gwendolyn.

“I will make sure to leave him off the guest list for your next ball,” said Josephine.

Leliana and Cullen joined them then.

“Were you _dancing_ with Duchess Florianne?” said Leliana.

“I had to dance with someone, and our commander refused,” said Gwendolyn.

“More importantly, what happened in the servants’ quarters? I heard there was fighting,” said Cullen.

“I hope you have good news. It appears the peace talks are crumbling,” said Josephine.

“The Grand Duchess tried to convince me Gaspard is the traitor, but I’m not sure I buy it,” said Gwendolyn.

“Florianne and her brother are as thick as thieves, but she would give him up in an instant to save herself,” said Leliana.

“Then…the attack on the empress _will _happen tonight,” said Cullen.

“Warning Celene is pointless. She needs these talks to succeed, and to flee would admit defeat,” said Josephine.

“Then perhaps we should let her die,” said Leliana.

Gwendolyn looked at her like she had six heads. “We came here to save the Empress and that’s what we’re going to do.”

“What Corypheus wants is chaos. Even with Celene alive, that could still happen,” said Leliana. “To foil his plan, the empire must remain strong. This evening, _someone _must emerge victorious.”

“And it doesn’t need to be Celene. She’s right,” said Cullen.

“Do you realize what you’re suggesting?” gasped Josephine.

“Sometimes, the best path is not the easiest one,” said Leliana.

“I saw what happens if Celene dies. We’re not doing that. We came here to save Celene. We are saving Celene. I can’t believe this is a debate,” said Gwendolyn.

“Then you must not only save her life, but also her empire,” said Leliana.

“That means giving her a victory over both Gaspard and Briala,” said Josephine.

“If there truly is proof Gaspard’s in league with Corypheus, that would be a start,” said Cullen.

“What did Duchess Florianne tell you?” asked Leliana.

“She said Gaspard’s mercenary captain is in the royal wing. That he knows about the assassination,” said Gwendolyn.

“Which could be a trap,” said Cullen.

“Or a lead. Either way, you should search the private quarters in that wing for clues,” said Josephine.

“Oh, it’s definitely a trap. But you know what they say, if you want something done right…Anyway, I’ll need access. And in the meantime, get your soldiers into position,” said Gwendolyn.

“At once. Be careful, Inquisitor,” said Cullen.

With that, the advisors went off on their own business, leaving Gwendolyn to get to work sorting through all of this muddled Orlesian bullshit.

The first stop was the trophy room off of the Hall of Heroes. She had to sweet talk a few of the guards into leaving but managed to gain access all the same. Inside, she found Gaspard’s office, including incriminating dispatches between him and his mercenaries within the palace, coordinating signals of when to strike. Really, who uses brandy shots as a signal to commit treason?

At any rate, it confirmed Gaspard as a traitor, just to the crown, not to his nation. He was clearly conspiring to kill Celene, just not with the Venatori. That still left Briala as well as the mystery of the Royal Wing, so that’s where she headed next, dragooning Sera, Dorian, and Iron Bull into coming with her.

They managed to snoop their way into the Royal Wing and up the stairs to the royal chambers when they heard a scream coming from one of the doors. The four of them burst into the room, only to find a harlequin standing over a terrified servant while brandishing a knife.

Gwendolyn shoved the harlequin out the open window, saving the frightened servant in the process.

“Thank you,” gasped the servant girl.

“Are you all right?” asked Gwendolyn as she helped the girl to her feet.

“I’m…I don’t think I’m hurt,” stammered the girl. “No one’s supposed to be here…Briala said…I shouldn’t have trusted her.”

“Briala told you to come to this wing of the palace?” said Gwendolyn.

“Not personally. The ‘Ambassador’ can’t be seen talking to the servants,” said the servant. “We get coded messages at certain locations. But the order came from her. She’s been watching the grand duke all night. No surprise she wants someone to search his sister’s room.”

“Seems this wing of the palace is a popular one tonight, considering it’s closed off. You seem not to be terribly fond of Briala; may I ask why?” said Gwendolyn.

“I knew her. Before. When she was Celene’s pet,” spat the servant. “Now she wants to play revolution. But I remember. She was sleeping with the empress who purged our alienage.”

Sera made a face.

“Would you be willing to testify to that, if I asked?” said Gwendolyn.

“Absolutely,” said the elf. “If the Inquisition will protect me, I’ll tell you everything I know about our ‘ambassador’.”

“Knew it. I did. And I bet the hate made it feel real good,” huffed Sera.

“Go to the ballroom. Find Commander Cullen. He’ll keep you safe,” said Gwendolyn.

“Thank you. Maker protect you, Inquisitor,” said the servant.

The servant ran out of the room in search of Cullen, and so they continued their investigation. They returned to the central hall with all the doors, only to hear a man calling out from another room, begging for someone to help him. The four of them rushed inside, only to realize a few key things. Firstly, this was the Empress’s room. Secondly, there was a naked soldier handcuffed and chained to the bed.

“What…happened?” asked Gwendolyn, keeping her eyes firmly on the soldier’s face.

“It’s not what it looks like!” exclaimed the soldier. “Honestly, I would have preferred it _were_ what it looks like. The Empress led me to believe I would be rewarded for betraying the Grand Duke. This…was not what I hoped for.”

“You’re telling me that Empress Celene left you naked and dressed like a roast duck?” said Gwendolyn.

“Please, I beg you. Don’t tell Gaspard. The Empress beguiled me into giving her plans for troop movements in the palace tonight. She knows everything. Everything. The duke’s surprise attack has been countered before it ever began. She’s turned it into a trap. The moment he strikes, she’ll have him arrested for treason,” said the soldier.

Sera was giggling like an idiot. “She’ll be all prim, but here’s you with your bits out.”

“Classic honeypot,” said Iron Bull.

“Orlesians are a wildly entertaining bunch, wouldn’t you agree?” said Dorian.

“I’ll protect you from Gaspard if you’re willing to testify about Celene’s trap,” said Gwendolyn as she unlocked his chains.

“I’ll do anything! Anything!” said the soldier.

“Clearly,” said Gwendolyn distastefully.

The four of them left the room and headed back down the hall, still in search of these supposed mercenaries Florianne had mentioned. They came across the part of the wing that was closed for renovation and heard something coming from behind the door, so, naturally, that’s where they went next…and promptly walked into a trap.

A dozen Venatori archers stood in the courtyard with their arrows trained on the Inquisitor while a Fade rift hovered above them. A mercenary sat tied to a marble column, bound and gagged. And above it all, Grand Duchess Florianne stood on the upper balcony watching the fruits of her labor like a spider watching a fly get trapped in her web.

“Inquisitor! What a pleasure! I wasn’t certain you’d attend,” said Florianne. “You’re such a challenge to read. I had no idea if you’d taken my bait.”

“I fear I’m a bit busy at the moment if you were looking for a dance partner,” said Gwendolyn.

“Yes, I see that. Such a pity you did not save one final dance for me,” said Florianne. “It was kind of you to walk into my trap so willingly. I was so tired of your meddling. Corypheus insisted that the empress die tonight, and I would hate to disappoint him.”

“At this point, I’d think disappointment was an old friend,” said Gwendolyn.

“You poor, deluded thing. You don’t know half of what Samson and I have planned,” said Florianne. “And now, I suppose you never will. In their darkest dreams, no one imagines I would assassinate Celene myself. All I need is to keep you out of the ballroom long enough to strike. A pity you’ll miss the rest of the ball, Inquisitor. They’ll be talking of it for years.” With that, she turned her attention to the Venatori. “Kill her. Bring me the marked hand as proof. It will make a fine gift for the master.”

The rift began spewing demons then just as the Venatori attacked. It was chaos in Le Jardin de Reverie as the four of them took on so many archers and the rift. Time wasn’t on their side as Gwendolyn closed the rift and Sera untied the mercenary.

“Andraste’s tits! What was all that? Were those demons? There aren’t more blasted demons coming, right?” exclaimed the mercenary.

“Those were, in fact, demons, yes,” said Gwendolyn.

“Maker! I’ve never seen one that close before. I knew Gaspard was a bastard, but I didn’t think he’d feed me to the fucking horrors over a damned bill,” said the mercenary.

“You…think this is about a bill,” said Gwendolyn in disbelief.

“Gaspard didn’t have enough of his fancy chevaliers to do his dirty work for him, so he hired me and my company out of Ferelden at three times our usual fee. Had to, to get us all the way out here to _Orlais_. And then his sister lures me out here. Had to be about the bill. All that garbage she was spewing doesn’t mean anything, does it? Stinking poncy cheesemongers. Should have just stayed in Denerim,” scowled the mercenary.

“Want a new job? One that pays better? The Inquisition can always use a good mercenary company,” said Gwendolyn.

“You hiring? I’m game. Anything’s better than this bullshit. You want me to talk to the empress, or the court, or sing a blasted song in the chantry, I’ll do it,” said the mercenary.

And with that, he wandered off.

Desperation and righteous fury fueled them forward as they hurried through the corridors of the Royal Wing towards the ballroom. They couldn’t let Florianne succeed. They couldn’t let the Empress fall. They’d wasted too much time already.

The Empress was about to begin her speech, and the evening had reached its climax. Florianne stood at her side with Gaspard on the platform below. The steward was announcing the empress when Gwendolyn, Dorian, Sera, and Iron Bull burst through a side door into the ballroom, still armed and in armor and in some cases, covered in blood. It stands as a testament to the moment that almost nobody noticed this occur.

Cullen was there to greet them, hurrying over to them immediately. “Thank the Maker you’re back! The Empress will begin her speech soon. What should we do?”

“The Grand Duchess is the assassin! Don’t let her near the Empress!” ordered Gwendolyn briefly.

“The duchess? At once, Inquisitor,” said Cullen.

It was all very theatrical, what happened next. Celene began to give her speech as Florianne began moving towards her. Inquisition soldiers rushed into position as Venatori emerged in the crowd and began attacking. Soldiers fought agents, nobles were being attacked—it was madness. Florianne killed the three Inquisition soldiers who tried to stop her. Gwendolyn and her three companions rushed through the crowd on the balcony and the Inquisitor reached them just in time to shove past Celene and knock the dagger out of Florianne’s hand.

Gwendolyn chased Florianne out of the ballroom, ordering Cullen to protect the people as she did. Florianne ran out onto the balcony and leapt into the garden in a swirl of smoke and shadow, the Inquisitor and her companions close behind.

Florianne landed in a roll, recovering quickly as she now found herself in her own version of harlequin and armed with a deadly bow. Just as the four of them caught up to her, she turned and pointed an arrow directly at the Inquisitor’s skull.

“Beaten at every turn. You stole the moment of my triumph, just as you stole the demon army from Erimond. And now you’ve chased a defenseless woman into the garden. Are you proud of yourself?” said Florianne.

“I don’t have time for your self-pity. You brought this on yourself,” snapped Gwendolyn.

“How perceptive. I did arrange every event of the evening. Including this one,” said Florianne.

She fired her arrow and Gwendolyn only just managed to dodge it, even as it grazed her arm. Florianne dropped a smoke bomb and leapt again over the balcony into the front courtyard where she landed on the fountain.

“The night is still young. All I need to recover is to kill you, Inquisitor. So good of you to attend my soiree,” said Florianne.

Venatori began flooding the courtyard then, and the four of them were locked into a pitched battle to the death.

Say what you want about Orlesians, but they do know how to throw a party.

The chaos in the ballroom was probably nothing compared to the battle happening outside. But in the end, the result was the same. The Inquisition prevailed, the Empress was safe, and Florianne was dead.

You’d think that would be the end of the night—that after an assassination attempt that ended with a number of Venatori corpses, some Inquisition soldiers dead, and more than a few terrified noblemen, you’d cancel the event and tell everyone to go home. But no, not this party. Instead, once the bodies had been removed and the blood more or less cleaned up, the “peace talks” began. And so, that’s how Empress Celene, Grand Duke Gaspard, and Ambassador Briala found themselves on a balcony off the ballroom, with the Inquisitor there. And let me tell you, the Inquisitor was _not _in the mood for more Orlesian bullshit.

Nobody heard what went on, but it looked an awful lot like the Inquisitor stood there scolding three world leaders like schoolchildren until she properly shamed them into working together. That’s fairly close to exactly what happened, actually. She had her witnesses. She had her blackmail. And she had reached her wits end with this blasted party, so she used all three of those things to her advantage, forcing the three of them into a truce and into working for Orlais.

Needless to say, the court was stunned when the four of them announced this result. They were less stunned that the Inquisitor announced a joint military venture to defeat Corypheus, but the idea of Gaspard and Briala working with Celene had them collectively clutching their pearls and having a case of the vapors.

Still, the night really was actually still young, and so the party continued, now in full swing, with everyone in shockingly high spirits given what had just happened. What can I say? Orlesians are funny like that.

Gwendolyn, for her part, wanted absolutely nothing to do with anything else related to the Game or this party, so she found an unoccupied balcony overlooking the gardens, put on her best ‘don’t come anywhere near me’ face, and tried to relax.

As is so often the case when all you want is to be left alone, nobody left her alone.

When Morrigan appeared at the balcony beside her, Gwendolyn had to suppress a groan.

“The Orlesian nobility make drunken toasts to your victory, and yet you are not present to hear them. Do you tire so quickly of their congratulations, Inquisitor? ‘Tis most fickle, after all your efforts on their behalf” said Morrigan.

“I would have stayed, but the punch ran dry,” said Gwendolyn.

“You maintain a wit in times of darkness, though appear less the fool than others who have tried the same,” said Morrigan. “By imperial decree, I have been named liaison to the Inquisition. Celene wishes to offer you any and all aid—including mine. Congratulations.”

Gwendolyn massaged her temples. “If you don’t mind my asking, what skills can you bring to the Inquisition?”

“I have knowledge which falls…beyond the realm of most mages. I suspect this is also true of Corypheus. Thus, it behooves you to add to your arcane arsenal, yes? Mundane knowledge will not bring the rift in the sky to a close, after all,” said Morrigan.

Alarm bells were ringing in Gwendolyn’s ears. “When you say, ‘knowledge beyond the realm of most mages’, do you mean blood magic?”

“I know many obscure, forgotten, and forbidden arts. Some of it you might consider blood magic, yes. Should thought of that frighten you, allow me to offer reassurance. Knowledge alone does no harm. What I possess I place at your disposal, to make use of or ignore as you desire,” said Morrigan.

“Fair enough, I suppose. Welcome to the Inquisition, Morrigan,” said Gwendolyn.

“A most gracious response. I shall meet you at Skyhold,” said Morrigan.

And with that, the witch left the balcony, once more leaving Gwendolyn alone with her thoughts.

Of course, that didn’t last long.

Queen Flora of Ferelden looked none the worse for wear, considering that she’d fought off a number of assassins that evening. She somehow managed to appear just as polished as she had when she arrived, with not so much as a hair out of place.

“So, I understand that Morrigan is now the Imperial Liaison to the Inquisition,” said Flora.

“Word certainly travels fast,” said Gwendolyn.

“You played your part perfectly tonight, Inquisitor, though I’m certain your primary take-away from it was a newfound hatred for Orlesian politics. All I can say is that I never want to hear another snide remark about the Landsmeet ever again. But I’m getting ahead of myself. Inquisitor, though I’m sure you’re tired of hearing from me on these matters, I really must insist that you heed my advice on this,” prefaced Flora.

“On what? Hatred of Orlesian politics?” said Gwendolyn.

“Concerning Morrigan. Celene may have ordered her to join you, but don’t think for even a moment that it wasn’t precisely what Morrigan wanted to happen. Her placement by your side is no more an accident than it was beside me during the Blight. She wants something from you, either that you have or will have and understand me when I say that she will exploit any and all insecurities or weaknesses you have in order to reach her goals,” said Flora.

“You all speak so highly of her, I can’t imagine why I wouldn’t trust her implicitly,” said Gwendolyn dryly.

“Inquisitor, you may not be a vulnerable teenager with the mental stability of a glass egg, but you still absolutely have weaknesses for her to exploit. You do recall what I told you earlier, yes? That your obvious affection for your commander is a connection that may be exploited? She reads people and uses them better than anyone here at this court, I can promise you. Tell her nothing, guard your secrets like your life and the lives of your loved ones depend on it, and do not let her talk you into anything,” warned Flora.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” said Gwendolyn.

Flora searched the Inquisitor’s face for signs of genuine comprehension and seemed satisfied with the result. “When in doubt, defer to Leliana’s judgment on the matter. She has a nose for sniffing out treachery of that sort. I pray that you never feel the sting of betrayal, Inquisitor, because I promise you that it is much worse than any weapon can inflict.”

“Thank you for the advice, Your Majesty,” said Gwendolyn.

“If you ever find yourself in Denerim, you will always be welcome in the palace there. We have an outstanding cheese selection and the Game is all but forbidden, as are Orlesians. I wish you the best of luck, Inquisitor. You’ll do great things, I’m sure,” said Flora.

The Hero of Ferelden took her leave then, rejoining King Alistair as the Ferledans left the party with diplomats trailing after them, begging them not to take offense to the night’s excitement.

Gwendolyn was left alone for some time then to mull over the consequences of everything that had transpired, and everything that hadn’t. And speaking of things that hadn’t happened…

The Commander walked out onto the balcony and seemed relieved “There you are! Everyone’s been looking for you.”

Gwendolyn just kept leaning on the balcony, looking out into the night.

Cullen joined her on the balcony. “Things have calmed down for the moment. Are you all right?”

“I’m just worn out. Tonight has been…very long,” said Gwendolyn.

“For all of us. I’m glad it’s over,” said Cullen.

She kept looking down and Cullen felt a need to cheer her up.

He put a hand on her shoulder in a soothing, calming way. “I know it’s foolish, but I was worried for you tonight.”

She smiled a little at that. “As was I. I was worried you wouldn’t survive the horde.”

Cullen smirked and stood back from her, offering his hand. “I may never have another chance like this, so I must ask. May I have this dance, my lady?”

Now he’d captured her full attention. “Of course. I thought you didn’t dance?”

She placed her hand in his and allowed him to pull her into a waltz in time to the music that drifting out from the ballroom.

Cullen smiled down at her as if she were the very center of his universe, perhaps because she was. “For you, I’ll try.”

\---

It was sometime later that it finally became socially and logistically feasible for the Inquisitor to take her leave of the party, and when she did, it was in the company of her commander. He handed her into the carriage and climbed in after her, taking the seat beside her on the bench. As the carriage rattled along the dimly lit streets toward the Inquisition’s villa, Gwendolyn looped her arm through his and rested her head against his shoulder. She was properly relaxed for the first time since arriving to Halamshiral, and she knew that she owed much of this to the man sitting beside her.

Cullen pressed a kiss into her hair. “You look exhausted.”

Gwendolyn smiled lightly. “It’s from all the dancing.”

“I’m sure,” Cullen snorted in amusement, then sobered significantly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, his hand lingering on her cheek. “I truly was worried for you tonight.”

She closed her eyes and leaned into his touch. “The Duchess was nowhere near as dangerous as your army of admirers.”

Cullen made a face. “They certainly were persistent.”

“Should I be worried, Commander, that an Orlesian noblewoman will steal you away from me?” asked Gwendolyn teasingly.

“Not hardly,” he scoffed. “They wouldn’t leave me alone. Eventually I had to tell them that I was already taken.”

Gwendolyn hummed softly. “Anyone I know?”

“Well, she’s brave, intelligent, kind, beautiful, and a beacon of light through the darkness,” said Cullen.

“She’s a lucky girl to have you speak so highly of her,” said Gwendolyn.

Cullen’s voice dropped a register as he leaned closer to her. “I’m the lucky one.”

He kissed her then, long and slow, and Gwendolyn was quick to respond by slipping her arm around his neck. She utterly melted, losing herself to the kiss entirely. It was a long, languid kiss that neither felt any need to end, and so it was not until the coach came to a stop at the Inquisition’s villa that they properly parted. Even then, Cullen helped her out of the carriage and walked her to the door of her room, hesitant even then to let her go.

Gwendolyn stood to the door of her room, the exhaustion of the day properly hitting her. She wondered idly what would happen if she asked Cullen to join her in her room, if he would agree. She wondered what it would be like to fall asleep in his arms and wake up beside him in the morning, and if such a future was at all possible. She hoped it was. Desperately, she hoped it was. She was a lost cause, and she hoped that he felt the same.

Cullen kissed her gently and stepped away before he took things too far. He didn’t want to rush things and scare her off with the depth of his feelings for her. “Goodnight, Inquisitor. Rest well.”

Gwendolyn smiled tiredly at him. “Night, Cullen.”

As she slipped into her room, Cullen slowly walked away, trying and failing to banish all thoughts of her in a bed from his mind. He was going to have to tell her soon. There was just no way around it. Even if she didn’t feel the same, he would have to tell her.


	24. Grave Decisions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brief mentions of assault  
Slightly NSFW at the end

Quite possibly the only people who had actually enjoyed themselves at the party were Josephine, Leliana, Solas, and Dorian—the rest of us were thrilled beyond measure to be back at Skyhold. We’d scored a big win for the Inquisition, after all. We were two for two, stopping both the demon army and the Empress’s assassination. Things were looking up for us. We had Corypheus’s people on the run and nervous, so it was only a matter of time now before we were able to track down the man himself.

Regrettably, we weren’t the only ones who felt as if peace would soon be restored to Thedas. Within a day of us returning to Skyhold, Chantry representatives arrived demanding that we release Cassandra and Leliana to the Chantry while they elected the next Divine. Obviously, they couldn’t be spared, but now the speculation began: who would be the next Divine? Would it be Cassandra—the Seeker of Truth and Right Hand of the Divine? Sister Leliana—the Left Hand of the Divine and Nightingale to the Imperial Court? Or would it be Madame Vivienne because she’d blackmailed her way into the position?

Everyone was whispering about it, with Leliana and Cassandra being the most prominent and obvious choices. Whoever became Divine would shape the future of Thedas, particularly the future of mages and templars, which necessarily meant that the decision needed to be made very, very carefully. Unfortunately for the Inquisitor, the Chantry was likely to take the Inquisition’s position in the matter strongly into account, which meant that she was going to need to throw her support either behind her advisor or her good friend, which was not a decision she wanted to make at the moment.

The Commander, naturally, bore the brunt of this indecision.

He was sitting at his desk doing paperwork while she sat in a chair across from him venting and puzzling through the best course of action.

“Why does the Chantry even want _my_ opinion on the matter? I’m not a cleric. I’m not even particularly religious. I should have absolutely no say in this,” said Gwendolyn.

Cullen looked at her over his report. “You’re the Herald of Andraste.”

“Only because a few soldiers mistook the spirit of the Divine for Andraste when I stumbled out of the Fade. I’m no more holy than anyone else here. Less, probably, considering how devout most everyone else is,” said Gwendolyn.

“Regardless of your position on the matter, the people believe that you are sent by Andraste and are the Prophet’s Herald. You have the full support of Ferelden and Orlais, with Orlais now taking orders from you. My dear, you are the most powerful woman in Thedas right now. That’s why the Chantry wants your opinion,” said Cullen.

Gwendolyn dragged her hands over her face. “Remember when no one would give us the time of day because we were a heretical movement of upstarts? I almost miss that.”

Cullen chuckled slightly. “It does seem as if it were a lifetime ago, doesn’t it?”

Gwendolyn drummed her fingers on his desk and chewed her lip for a while before speaking. “Cassandra lacks the apparent compassion and grace that one expects of the Divine. I can’t say I’ve ever heard of one that was likely to punch heretics in the face, but perhaps change in that department wouldn’t be unwelcome. She certainly has the leadership capability. She intends to keep the Circles, though to reform them, as well as to reestablish the Seekers and the templars. I understand there’s a whole list of reforms she wants to implement, but which boils down to being the same system as before just somewhat neater and less terrible. That being said, she doesn’t exactly seem as if she wants the job. More of a ‘I would not ask someone else to do this if I was not willing to’, I think.

“Leliana is even more progressive and liberal and making her Divine would lead to more immediate change, but would likely make a _lot_ of people very, _very_ angry. She wants to allow everyone into the Chantry—meaning dwarves, elves, Qunari, mages, humans—everyone. She wants to dissolve the Circles and make the Chantry a source of compassion and acceptance rather than repression and fear. I can hardly say that doesn’t appeal to me, and frankly I think it’s ridiculous that only humans are allowed to be part of the Chantry anyway. I have no idea if Leliana even wants the job or not, though I suspect she does. I find her difficult to read, but then again, she _is _a spymaster and that _is _rather her job.

“And then Vivienne is an option…technically speaking anyway, but I would sooner appoint Sera as Divine than put Vivienne on the sunburst throne. Hmph, now there’s an image.”

“It sounds as if you’ve made up your mind on this already,” said Cullen in a neutral tone.

Gwendolyn shook her head. “I still don’t know what to do. On the surface, Leliana’s idea sounds wonderful. And I agree that the Chantry _should _accept anyone who believes and that it should be a place of acceptance and support rather than fear, arrogance, and corruption. That much is a given. And frankly, now that I’ve had the chance to see the world and live outside the Circle…at any rate, it would lead to chaos. Even if mages outside the Circle were completely innocuous and never harmed a soul, people would slaughter them in droves out of fear. And then there’s the inevitable blood mages and mages who think that they were born with the ability to immolate things so now it’s their right to immolate things whenever they want. Still, I suppose it’s possible that it could work after an adjustment period. But how many would be slaughtered in the interim? I don’t want to be responsible for a bloodbath.”

“Then you’d choose Cassandra over Leliana?” asked Cullen.

“In an ideal world I would love for Leliana’s ideas to become a reality. I would love for mages to be considered equal to everyone else. I _want _to stop the oppression of mages and for us to be afforded the same rights as everyone else. But the world is far from ideal. And I know that if I didn’t have this mark on my hand that I would be regarded with the same fear and disgust as every other mage. I can’t erase ages of hatred and resentment or any of the horrible things that mages have done in the name of power. I can’t change the history between mages and templars. I can’t turn back time and stop Anders from blowing up half of Kirkwall in the name of mages’ rights. Maybe in time things will change, but I’ve seen too much of humanity to think that it will. Then again, change has to start somewhere.

“Cassandra wants to change things, at least to some extent. She’ll allow mages more rights and hopefully make the Circles less…oppressive for both mages and templars. If anyone can scare clerics into doing their jobs instead of seeking their own power, then it would be her. I have no doubt that she’d be a wonderful Divine,” finished Gwendolyn.

“You still don’t sound thrilled with the decision,” said Cullen.

“If the Circles were made into places of education, unity, support, then it might not be so bad. If mages were given more rights or ever allowed to leave the Circle instead of walking into the Circle tower and only leaving on a funeral pyre, then maybe I could accept it. I understand why it’s done. I understand why the Circle has become a glorified mage prison with a fancier library. But I spent my entire life wanting nothing more than to see the world and control my own fate. And it’s going to be very, _very_ difficult to return to how things were before,” said Gwendolyn.

Cullen was beginning to understand her perspective on the matter, and found that he would also find it very, very difficult to see her return to the Circle. “Perhaps reestablish the Circles in a better light and have ways for them to leave. You could establish healing clinics with templar support, have a mixed military service—something to that effect. And there has to be a safer way for templars to leave the Order. I…would not suggest my model of exit.”

Gwendolyn nodded slowly, mulling that over. “The words ‘templar support’ do not fill me with glee, but I understand the necessity. Maybe given how things have progressed and how our mages and templars are working together…it could work? Stop the templars from being the Chantry’s tools and stop the mages from being the Chantry’s prisoners? Forcing a lyrium addiction on templars is cruel and unusual. That absolutely needs to change. And I’m sure you know the laundry list of things mages aren’t allowed to do, and I feel like that should be shortened. Considerably.”

“You may present your list of ideas to Cassandra. She may actually be willing to agree to some of those terms,” said Cullen.

“You don’t agree with most of it, do you?” said Gwendolyn.

He raised an eyebrow. “I agree with more than you realize, I think.”

“Really. So, you agree that mages shouldn’t be locked away and the templars throw away the key?” said Gwendolyn.

“I _did _just suggest a mixed military service and healing clinics, didn’t I? I am willing to concede the point that not every mage is a maleficar or wishes to be,” frowned Cullen.

“Oh. Well…all right then,” said Gwendolyn.

“You really think that you’re going to be put back in a Circle, don’t you?” said Cullen.

“With Vivienne as Grand Enchanter and don’t you just _know _that she’s going to love being able to tell me what to do,” said Gwendolyn.

“Gwen, I don’t think either Leliana or Cassandra would attempt to put you in a Circle again. The Inquisition may still last for quite some time, and even after that, the Chantry is unlikely to put the Herald of Andraste in a Circle,” said Cullen.

“And if I _wasn’t _the Herald of Andraste? How can I make a decision that will apply to all mages just because I’ll squeak by without getting shoved in a Circle? Cullen, I was five years old when I was sent to the Circle; I could barely even spell my own name and had no notion of what was even happening. All I knew is that I had frozen the lake near our summer home after my brothers killed our dog and that suddenly there were scary men in armor with fiery swords painted on their chests and that they were taking me away. The templars put me in dispelling chains and carted me off to the Circle where they immediately locked me in a windowless dungeon to await the Knight-Commander and First Enchanter’s assessment. I was _five years old_, Cullen, and things didn’t exactly improve from there. How can I in good conscience subject more people to that when I have the power to change things?” exclaimed Gwendolyn, growing more agitated by the minute.

“Gwen…” trailed off Cullen.

“The Circles don’t work. Ostwick and Kinloch were both purported to be the most sedate and relaxed of the Circles, and we both know how _those _turned out. Ostwick was rife with corrupt templars and however _nice _they were supposed to be, my brother was a monster and I had more than one friend made tranquil because they were assaulted by a templar. And that was at one of the _good _Circles. Then of course there’s Kinloch, and even then, you had…well, everything that happened at Kinloch. All right, you could argue, maybe giving mages too much _freedom _is the problem. Well, clearly no it isn’t, because Kirkwall certainly tried keeping them under lock and key and _that _ended up an unmitigated disaster. So, if being more ‘relaxed’ doesn’t work and keeping mages in a constant state of imprisoned fear doesn’t work, then what _does _work? I’ll tell you what: _not _having Circles in the first place. What templars who aren’t mage-hating monsters are brainwashed by the Chantry and have a horrible addiction forced upon you, and the mages are only resorting to drastic means in an attempt to have _some _control over their lives,” argued Gwendolyn firmly.

“Dissolving the Circles led to a civil war that threw half of Thedas into chaos,” countered Cullen.

“And how would _you _like to the be the mage to tell every other mage that the institution that systematically tortured and oppressed us for generations and that we _finally _escaped is going to be reimplemented? When the Circles fell, I saw senior enchanters weep tears of joy for standing in grass and feeling rain on their faces. I saw mage parents for the first time being able to hold their children in their arms without the Chantry ripping them away. I would not be able to live with myself if I put any of them back in the Circles,” said Gwendolyn.

Cullen was keeping his expression neutral, lest he say something he might come to regret. This was her decision to make, after all, not his, no matter how much he might disagree with it. “I thought you weren’t part of the mage rebellion.”

“Oh, I wasn’t. When we all voted to separate from the Chantry, I don’t think there was anyone who voted in _favor _of keeping Chantry supervision. Realistically, you can only hear the words ‘magic exists to serve man, never to rule over him’ so many times without it becoming rather grating. What I did _not _support was starting a war against the templars, because as much as I had grown to hate templars over my twenty or so years in the Circle, I knew it was suicide to do so. I may be terrible at chess, but I’ve always been very good at math, and when you weigh the military prowess of the templars against a group of disorganized mages, most of whom are untrained children or the elderly, it’s not even a competition. Do you think when we left the Circle, even the neutral mages, that we just set up somewhere and lived happily in peace? We were hunted like animals after the Circles fell. Yes, abominations happen, and yes there are some templars like you who have seen and experienced the absolute worst that mages have to offer, but you are in the minority of templars. Every mage I know has either experienced the wrath of templars directly and knows more than a few people who were tortured, killed, or made tranquil. Cullen, when we were in Haven, did you ever notice how I would flinch whenever you put your hand on your sword, even if for you it’s a mindless, casual gesture? I know I yelled at you at the time for assigning knights to protect me, but I have had to unlearn a lifetime of fear and abuse just to not run and hide whenever I see a templar,” continued Gwendolyn.

Cullen couldn’t remember ever seeing her this worked up about anything before. He had the distinct impression that this conversation, however one sided, had reopened old wounds. He opted not to even voice his multiple concerns on the matter. Doubtless she already knew every argument he was going to make, from maleficar to the Imperium, and a lifetime in the Circle would cause those arguments to fall on deaf ears.

“This is your decision, Inquisitor,” said Cullen.

Gwendolyn was still seething over her pent-up hatred for her time in the Circle and took a breath to try and calm down. It only kind of worked. “I know you don’t agree with me and probably think that I’m going to inadvertently turn southern Thedas into the Imperium, but I hope you at least understand my position on the matter. And I…understand if the difference in politics becomes problematic.”

“What?” asked Cullen, absolutely noticing her shift in tone.

She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. “I’ll understand if you don’t want to be with someone who has such vastly different politics. You suffered greatly at the hands of mages when all you have ever wanted is to protect people, and I understand completely why you wouldn’t support my position on the matter. Just please know that I’m trying to protect people too—to protect mage children from being treated like criminals just for being born, mage parents from having their children ripped away from them and then being made tranquil for being upset about it, and mages from being abused by their captors. I won’t apologize for thinking that the Circles don’t work and wanting a better system in place. And if that’s too liberal or radical for you, please know that I understand and will not hold it against you.”

With that, Gwendolyn stood and left the office, before Cullen could say so much as another word.

The door closed behind her with a hollow, empty sound.

\--- 

The war council meeting that afternoon was…tense. Gwendolyn was looking only at the map of Thedas, not making eye contact, Cullen seemed divided between his reports and stealing glances at her, and the other two were just left wondering what was going on.

“I recommend sending a few of my agents in to assess the situation before we decide upon further action,” said Leliana.

“Good idea,” agreed Gwendolyn distractedly.

“Regarding the DeRossiers, Inquisitor, they may present a problem,” said Josephine.

“I already told you that I won’t condone some ridiculous arranged marriage. I haven’t changed my mind on that front,” said Gwendolyn.

“No party involved will agree to it. Inquisitor, if I may, we have angered most of them,” said Josephine.

Cullen cleared his throat. “We have a battalion leaving that region for the Free Marches. It, uh, would not be of note if two more ‘soldiers’ accompanied them.”

“Are you suggesting that the lovers elope to the Free Marches? And that we assist them?” said Josephine in shock.

“You surprise us, Commander,” said Leliana with a sly smile.

“It was merely a suggestion. The Inquisitor, of course, is free to ignore my recommendation,” said Cullen coolly.

Gwendolyn threw her paperwork down on the Korcari Wilds irritably. “I believe I already explained ad nauseum that I would understand if you disagreed as long as it didn’t interfere with anything. We’ll go with your plan for the damn Orlesians, but I would rather die than be returned to the Circle and if you disagree that strongly you are more than free to go visit Rylen in the Western Approach.”

The advisors were more than a little startled by the outburst, particularly when aimed at Cullen. Most considered the Inquisitor and her commander to be something of a done deal with wedding bells somewhere on the horizon. This did not support that theory.

“As I said, it is your decision to make, not mine,” said Cullen calmly.

“What decision?” asked Josephine nervously.

Gwendolyn turned her icy expression on Josephine, though it lost most of its frost. “I have made a decision regarding my support for a candidate for Divine.”

Josephine blinked in surprise. “Truly?”

Gwendolyn shifted her gaze to Leliana. “I think you’ll make a fantastic Divine, Leliana. The world is changing, and non-magic humans are not the only Andrastians out there. If this ongoing crisis has shown me one thing, it’s that the Chantry needs to be a place of comfort and safety for the masses, not just a select few. It’s time that we put the mistakes and oppression of the past behind us and move forward to a more accepting future.”

Leliana was genuinely surprised by the Inquisitor’s decision, having expected, as most did, that her friendship with Cassandra would win out over everything else. “You honor me, Inquisitor. I thank you for your support, though it will of course depend on the Grand Clerics in the end.”

“I will send the announcement to the Grand Cathedral at once,” said Josephine, ever the professional.

“I do hope you like hats,” said Cullen with a sidelong look at Leliana.

Leliana shrugged in a very Orlesian matter. “Sometimes sacrifices must be made, even regarding fashion, and those are the gravest of all.”

Gwendolyn was eager to change the subject. “The Empress is safe, and I’ve chosen a candidate for Divine. So, what’s our next move?”

“Samson is the most immediate threat. Actually, my men have tracked smuggled red lyrium shipments to the Emerald Graves. If you could find some of them, we might be able to determine where the shipments are coming from,” said Cullen.

“The Emerald Graves is also where my scouts have found the Freemen of the Dales’ stronghold. We have a contact—a man named Fairbanks. Make contact with him and he will be able to guide you from there,” added Leliana.

“Exactly. Two birds with one stone, as it were,” said Cullen.

“Why do I have a feeling that I’m not going to like where this is going?” said Gwendolyn, narrowing her eyes at them.

“Well, there’s the matter of what else is in the Emerald Graves beyond Red Templars, Freemen of the Dales, and a great deal of trees,” said Josephine.

“Out with it,” said Gwendolyn impatiently.

“Well, there’s a dragon, to start. As well as giants. Reports of a haunted castle…and, perhaps the part you will like the least, there is an entire region called Great Bear Grove,” said Cullen.

“So, you’re sending me into a place that not only has dragons, but _great bears_? Aren’t those supposed to be something on the order of three times the size of a normal bear?” said Gwendolyn.

“Which is why we’re warning you now,” said Cullen.

“I haven’t even left yet, and I already want to leave,” said Gwendolyn.

“We _need _to find Samson,” said Cullen.

“Would it kill the three of you to send me to a tropical paradise for a change?” said Gwendolyn in exasperation.

\--- 

The advisors were not wrong in their assessment of the Emerald Graves. There were, in fact, giants, a high dragon, great bears, Fade rifts, Freemen of the Dales, Red Templars, undead in an abandoned castle, and wolves. Oh, and a shit ton of trees. So many trees. It was the most beautiful graveyard ever made, with emerald green trees saturated with color, crystal clear rivers and waterfalls, and a lush carpet of soft grass. Would have been a nice place overall, if it weren’t for the bears, really. At least in Gwendolyn’s opinion. She _really_ did not like bears.

At any rate, they were gone for about a month as they cleared the Emerald Graves of Freemen of the Dales, that pesky high dragon, and Red Templars. They found a number of smugglers’ letters with orders from Samson that made mention of a place called Sahrnia, so that was actually rather productive. But she’d made the mistake of taking whoever wanted to go with her, which left her with the decidedly awkward combination of Sera, Vivienne, and Cassandra. They’d left just as the announcement of the Inquisition’s support of Leliana was formally announced…and that just made the trip to the Emerald Graves…tense.

To her credit, the Seeker was actually the most calm about it.

“It was an irresponsible decision, my dear, and you must understand how utterly terrible for mages this will be. Leliana is better suited to a torture chamber than the Sunburst Throne and will utterly destroy the fragile peace we have all worked so hard to create,” said Vivienne. She had not shut up about this since leaving Skyhold.

“The Inquisitor has made her decision. Though I do not agree with all of Leliana’s policies, I am confident that we can work together for a better future. We have already discussed rebuilding the Seekers, and it shows promise,” said Cassandra.

In truth, the Seeker was mildly relieved not to have been named the next Divine, particularly as she chiefly wished to rebuild the Seekers above all else. Backroom politics and ridiculous hats were not her forte, nor did she ever wish them to be. She was at home in armor with a sword in her hand, and that was the future the Inquisitor had allowed her. The two of them had actually had a rather lovely discussion which ended with Gwendolyn giving her a hug. The Seeker refused to admit that she enjoyed the hug.

“Mages everywhere. Not sure how I feel about that,” grumbled Sera.

“My dear, if you abhor the Circle so, I am _certain _we might have made arrangements in your favor,” said Vivienne.

That did it.

The temperature dropped so quickly that the trees and grass in the general vicinity were coated in frost as Gwendolyn rounded on Vivienne. “Oh, yes, I’m sure there could have been! I could have followed your example and moved in with a member of the Council of Heralds and run a Circle from there, living a life of opulence and luxury. Yes, I’m certain it is extremely easy to promote the reestablishment of the Circles when that’s your life, but that is far from typical for most every mage in southern Thedas! To live in the Circle is to live in a constant state of fear; fear of the templars, tranquility, possession, Harrowings, and being assaulted or murdered. My time in the Circle was a pleasure cruise compared to what happened to some of my friends, and even then I watched as friends had their children stripped away from them, other friends made tranquil because they were too ‘hysterical’ after a templar assaulted them, and still more who were beaten regularly just because a templar was having an off day. And that was just at Ostwick! While you were sipping wine and eating expensive little cakes here in Orlais, we were living in terror when word out of Kirkwall came that a Ser Alaric was proposing a ‘tranquil solution’ to neutralize every mage in the Free Marches. And now—now that _finally _mages have managed to break free of that unending nightmare, _you _want to reinstate the very institution that saw mages systematically abused for generations? When we can _finally _put an end to it? Maker, things got so bad in Kirkwall that someone blew up the bloody chantry! Don’t try to tell me that Circles work when mages are so desperate and so terrified that they resort to something like that. No one in their right mind would want to go back to the Circle unless they’d bought into the self-hatred that the Chantry tried to impose on us, _especially _after being free!”

“My dear, you are causing a scene. Magic left unchecked will be a disaster. Fiona and her rebellion were quaint at best, reckless and dangerous at worst. Free mages will get themselves killed and everyone will pay for it, starting with you, as you will be the poster child for this new world order, or lack thereof I suppose. You claim to fear tranquility, but I have no doubt that such a fate awaits you for the role you’ve played in this nonsense. I do hope you have enjoyed your brief love affair with freedom. You’ve seen your snow and your ocean, a desert and a forest, you’ve had your juvenile tryst with a common soldier, and now you will return to the Circle as you should,” said Vivienne condescendingly.

Gwendolyn was making a genuine effort not to explode. “You’re a _mage_. Are you telling me that you _honestly _would rather be locked up in a drafty tower, never again to properly see the light of day, than to be free?”

“If that is your ideal, then perhaps you ought to have married one of the magisters your family arranged for you. I hear the Imperium lets their mages do whatever they please, blood magic included,” said Vivienne in disgust.

The tension in the air was palpable and frigid.

Cassandra made a disgusted sound. “Might this circular argument wait until later?”

As if waiting for a cue, a massive bear, easily four times the size of a regular one, appeared just over a rise and roared, the noise causing the leaves on the surrounding trees to quiver in fear.

\---

Camp that night was an awkward affair. The Inquisitor had disappeared into her tent and closed the flap behind her, clearly not wanting to be disturbed. Vivienne was talking down the Inquisitor to an unwilling Sera, and Cassandra was ready to feed them all to bears.

The Seeker barely knocked before entering the Inquisitor’s command tent. Gwendolyn sat at her field desk reading through reports tiredly, an existential level of exhaustion seeping into her bones. She looked up when Cassandra entered, waiting for the Seeker to say something.

“Inquisitor. I thought we might talk,” said Cassandra.

“Here to also berate me about my poor life choices and terrible politics? The way this day is going, I half expect someone to genuinely make me tranquil before the date changes,” said Gwendolyn as she set down the report she was reading and rubbed her face.

“Leliana and I have our differences and I do not agree fully with many of her policies, but I respect her, and I respect your decision to support her. You have made no secret of your support for the mages in the past, and this should not have been at all surprising to those who were paying attention,” said Cassandra.

“I suppose one way to find out who your true friends are is to dare to suggest that you shouldn’t spend the rest of your life locked in a tower. _Shocking_ how many are outraged at the concept,” said Gwendolyn dully.

“Many are attracted to you for your power and the Inquisition’s power, but that same power makes you a threat to them,” said Cassandra.

“It’s not even just them, though. Sera’s terrified of mages, Bull keeps muttering about the Imperium, Cole said that I’m loud, whatever that means, Varric just said something about Hawke and Anders, Blackwall thinks it’ll lead to a repeat of what happened to the Wardens, and then immediately looked around to see if Leliana was waiting in the wings to shank him, Vivienne, obviously, is _furious_, and seemingly the only people who _don’t _think I made some horrific mistake are Dorian and Solas, and even _then _it’s only because they’re mages like me. You’re the wounded party in this and yet you’re the one who’s being the most civil about it!” exclaimed Gwendolyn in frustration.

“Did we not discuss this previously? The Game and politics have never been my arena and the idea of dealing with conniving clerics all day disgusts me. I am to rebuild the Seekers and make them stronger, as you suggested, and I am content with this, even if I may not agree with all of Leliana’s policies,” said Cassandra. 

“And I’m incredibly grateful that you’re taking this all in stride. I’m…already losing enough friends over this as it is. Odd though it may sound, you’re like an older sister to me, and I’d hate for us to fall out over this,” said Gwendolyn.

Cassandra was flattered, but not entirely surprised that the Inquisitor felt that way. She was happy that despite their differences they could be trusted friends, particularly as she had so few people she could genuinely call friends.

“I like to think that I am mature enough not to overreact to something that was already expected to occur, and forgive me if I am overstepping, but is it truly Vivienne who you are upset about? Or is there another who perhaps did not respond as favorably as you had hoped?” asked Cassandra. Despite all of our teasing, Cassandra was a smart woman, and she was more observant than people gave her credit for.

Gwendolyn deflated significantly. “No, you’re right. I’ve never particularly valued Vivienne’s good opinion. But, like you said, I shouldn’t have been surprised when certain parties reacted as they inevitably would. I guess it’s easy to forget how different we all are when we’re so often working towards the same goal and discussing unrelated topics. I suppose I should count myself lucky that anything ever even happened between us in the first place and use this as a lesson for the future.”

That much _did _surprise Cassandra. “Did you end things with him?”

Gwendolyn shook her head, her expression plainly miserable. “No, but I gave him the option. I told him that I would understand if he no longer wanted anything to do with me given my stance on the subject and that I wouldn’t hold it against him. He hasn’t said anything one way or another and we barely spoke before I left for here. All I’ve gotten from him are formal reports, not personal correspondence, so I can only imagine that this is his way of making a clean break with minimal fuss.”

“I doubt the Commander would be that cold,” frowned Cassandra. It seemed out of character when the Seeker knew how Cullen adored the Inquisitor, worrying about her night and day whenever she left for field missions. Cullen had been better with the Inquisitor in his life, healthier too, and somehow Cassandra doubted he would throw that away over one argument.

“Truly? I’m not so sure. He experienced unspeakable horrors at the hands of mages and lived most of his life as a templar. Even now he’s only just starting to not fear mages. It could easily be years before he would even consider the idea of mages running rampant something other than a horrible idea. For the same reason I don’t trust or particularly like templars, he doesn’t trust mages and how can I blame him for that when I’m doing the same thing? I lost friends to the templars while in the Circle, but _he _lost all that and more to mages while in the Circle. As a mage I can tell everyone that the Circles don’t work and harm both templars and mages alike until I’m blue in the face, but the fact of the matter is that people fear magic because of how it’s been presented and because of how mages have been treated for the past several centuries and I can’t force people to unlearn prejudice overnight. I can’t force him to agree with me and I wouldn’t want to, especially knowing what I do about his past. It may just be that we’re too different, in the end. Irreconcilable differences, I believe is the phrase,” said Gwendolyn. She sighed heavily. “I don’t know. It just feels like things could be ending and I’m…taking it out on everyone. I shouldn’t. It’s wrong of me. I shouldn’t even be troubling you with this.”

“You’ve had your differences, certainly, but you saw past those before, yes? Perhaps you both only need a little time to realize such things once more,” said Cassandra.

Gwendolyn looked at her, head resting on her hand dismally. “I told him that I would rather die than be returned to the Circle and he could join Rylen in the Western Approach if he disagreed that strongly. There’s really no way to unsay that.”

Cassandra winced. “Do you not argue with some regularity?”

“Not over things that matter. Over me being reckless with my own safety and over war table operations occasionally, but never over things that matter. And I don’t typically threaten him with exile to a blighted desert,” said Gwendolyn.

“Inquisitor, he cares for you just as you do for him. Cooler heads will prevail in time. There is no reason to despair over this,” said Cassandra.

Gwendolyn frowned at her. “You think I’ll get _possessed _over this? Do give me some credit here, Cassandra. I’ve had many low points before, but none so low as to make a deranged deal with a demon.”

“That was not what I…never mind. I will leave you to your work, Inquisitor. Know only that I am here should you wish to talk,” said Cassandra.

And with that, Cassandra left the tent.

\---

Three days later, Gwendolyn finally caved and began writing.

_Cullen – _

_ I need to apologize. I’ve had a great deal of time to think and agonize over this and I know that I need to set things right. I was wrong to yell at you as I did, and I should never have threatened you with banishment to the Western Approach, of all things. I know we may disagree on this and other things, but I don’t want that to come between us. I care about you and I enjoy spending time with you, and it would break my heart if all of that was suddenly gone just because I said something stupid or made a decision that you disagreed with. _

_ Regarding the Circles…I’m not even sure that there is a right answer or a perfect solution. All I can say is that I would never forgive myself if I sentenced mages and templars back to the Circle, especially if for some reason I was allowed to remain free. What the Chantry did to all of us is wrong, and all I can say in my defense is that I’m trying to set things right, or as right as they can be. If the Circles didn’t work, then maybe Leliana’s idea will, and if her idea doesn’t work, then there’s nothing stopping her or someone else from changing things again. _

_ Still, after all you’ve been through, I understand if you disagree with me on this. I don’t blame you and I understand why you wouldn’t want mages like the horrible ones you’ve experienced running rampant. I get it. I wish we didn’t have to disagree, but I understand why we do. I think I just used the word ‘understand’ about six times and I apologize for the lack of variety in my vocabulary at the moment. One would think that since I’ve written and rewritten this about twelve times in my head over the past few days I’d be somewhat more eloquent, but I’m going to go ahead and blame the Great Bears (they’re horrible—if this is your idea of revenge, well played) for my lack of articulation at the moment as it is very late and I may or may not have fought three of those monstrosities today (see report for details regarding that particular nightmare). _

_ I guess what I’m trying to say is, I’m sorry. I care about you and I don’t want this to somehow ruin what we have, but…I understand if you don’t want to deal with me in that capacity after. If that’s the case, I hope we can still be at least friends because I really, genuinely do care about you, Cullen. I just…need you to know since I’m so incredibly bad at showing it. _

_ _ \- __ _GWT_

It was four days afterward that she received a letter from the Commander, clearly having been sent only just before she sent her own letter.

_Gwen—_

_ You know I’m not good at these things, but I loathe the way we left things between us. Life has taught me to be wary of magic, and though I now find trusting mages such as yourself relatively easy, I know that I still have a great deal of work ahead of me if I am to ever see the situation from your perspective. All I know is what I have experienced, which as you say, is that the old system of Circles and templars is not a sustainable model, and that change needs to happen. There has to be a safe way for templars to leave the Order, for one, though I suppose if there are no Circles, there would be no need. I’ve been impressed by how well our mage and templar recruits work together and how they’ve managed to overcome their differences to work towards a common goal, so perhaps there is hope for your and Leliana’s idealistic plans yet. Regardless, we did appoint you Inquisitor to make difficult decisions such as this, and that was after you sided with the mage rebellion over the templars. Personal experiences aside, I would have been more surprised if you had chosen Cassandra over Leliana. Privately, I also have the distinct impression that Cassandra is relieved to not be supported for Divine; I do not think she enjoys the idea of tall hats. _

_ Gwen, the truth is, I have no idea how the situation with the Circles, or lack thereof, will play out. All I know is that I too would find it very difficult for you to return to the Circle and to see you locked away forever. I have had entirely too much time to mull over everything since you left, and all I can think about is how bad a way this was to leave things. To have an argument and then have you immediately leave for the Emerald Graves…I have spent these past weeks going over everything I should have said and done differently. I am sorry that I did not write sooner, but I was having difficulty finding the right words to express just how deeply I regret our argument. I never meant for politics to interfere with us and with what we have, and I do not want it to now. You are a truly incredible woman, Gwen, and you have helped me in more ways than I think even you realize. These weeks without you have been particularly poignant, and I find that I miss you more than ever. _

_ I know that you are undoubtedly enjoying your time with the Great Bears, but please come back soon._

__ \- _CSR_

\---

The Inquisitor and her party returned to Skyhold and were greeted by the usual hoopla. Due to the high maintenance nature of one of the party members, the overwhelming number of attendants were swarmed around Madame Vivienne, utterly ignoring everyone else. The Inquisitor nearly fell off of her horse attempting to dismount (horses and her were on not always on the best of terms). She dropped to the ground and stumbled, but a pair of strong hands steadied her from behind. Gwendolyn turned around to see the Commander wearing a soft smile.

“Welcome back, Inquisitor. I trust the bears didn’t give you _too _much trouble?” he said.

“The trees were beautiful, but if I never return there it will be too soon,” said Gwendolyn honestly.

Cullen’s tawny eyes looked like molten gold as he addressed her, the air charged with something that still went unnamed. “When you have a moment, Inquisitor, I would speak with you in my office. Once you’ve settled in, of course.”

“Of course,” said Gwendolyn, great bears forgotten.

Cullen nodded and walked away.

Gwendolyn watched his retreat with great interest before turning to retrieve her belongings, only to immediately come face to face with a grinning Sera.

“Look at you all flirty,” said Sera.

“I wasn’t—it’s not—” started Gwendolyn.

Sera’s smile could only be described as wolfish. “Commander Uptight, eh? You’ve got it bad, Quizzy.”

Gwendolyn sighed heavily. “Sera, do we really need to do this right now?”

“You gonna be able to walk to your war meeting later?” asked Sera mischievously.

“What? Why wouldn’t I?” asked Gwendolyn in confusion.

“Oh you _know_,” said Sera.

“No, really, I don’t,” said Gwendolyn.

Sera continued to smirk at her.

Gwendolyn shook her head, shooting her friend a strange look, and headed into the castle proper. It was only after she had bathed and changed into normal clothes that she made the trip over to the command tower. Cullen had been standing by his desk, but no sooner had the door closed behind her than he swept her into his arms and held her tightly to him.

“I missed you,” he said quietly.

Gwendolyn buried her face in his neck, breathing in the familiar sent of metal and leather. “I missed you too.”

“I think, as a rule, you should never leave Skyhold after a fight unless we’ve reached an accord,” said Cullen as he pressed a kiss into her damp hair.

“Agreed. And I’m sorry I yelled at you,” she said.

“And I’m sorry that I gave you a reason to,” said Cullen.

She reached up and kissed him, slipping her arms about his neck and pressing herself flush against him. The Commander kissed her back hungrily, like a starving man seeing food again for the first time. These weeks apart had been a special kind of agony, and both felt desperate to show the other just how much they’d missed them. As the kiss became more heated, Cullen picked her up and set her down on the edge of the desk, shoving aside stacks of reports in the process. Gwendolyn hoped she knew where this was going, though her mind was a haze of desire, and she pulled him back to her, needing more of him. He stood between her legs, flush against her, as his hands caressed her thighs.

Someone pounded on the main office door, dragging them back to reality. Cullen made a noise somewhere between a groan and a growl, his hands still firmly on her hips as he buried his face in her neck.

Gwendolyn giggled breathlessly and kissed his cheek. “What is it you once said to me? ‘No rest for the wicked’?”

Cullen groaned.

She took his face in her hands and kissed him gently, adoring his man and the unusual darkness of his eyes. No one had ever looked at her like that before. She wanted him to keep looking at her like that forever. “I’ll leave you to your work and see you in the war room later. I do have actual updates for you, after all.”

Her legs felt wobbly as she slipped off his desk and made for the door that headed to the castle proper. She tossed a coy smile over her shoulder as she left. “Don’t work too hard.”

As Cullen sank into his desk chair uncomfortably, he felt that _hard _was the operative word there.


	25. Mirrors and Liars

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NSFW

It was fairly inevitable that the Empress’s liaison arrived at Skyhold. Her arrival was accompanied by a number of suspicious and lustful looks alike, though the witch herself utterly ignored all of it in favor of going about her business. Nightingale watched like a hawk, clearly not trusting Morrigan with absolutely anything. Morrigan had, of course, merely rolled her eyes at the scrutiny, not finding this even remotely surprising.

Eventually, however, someone had to interact with Morrigan and to not just avoid her like a plague. And so, the Inquisitor went to meet with her in the gardens, only to run into a finely dressed young boy.

“Hello, Lady Inquisitor,” said the young boy politely.

Gwendolyn looked at the child, puzzling through who the actual heck this kid was. There were not, as a general rule, _children _in Skyhold. At least, not that she was aware of. Since when were there children?

“Hello to you too,” said Gwendolyn.

“Mother never told me that you were a mage,” said the little boy.

“You can sense magic?” asked Gwendolyn in surprise. It was rare to run into mage children in general, never mind _in Skyhold_.

“You carry a magic that’s much older than your own,” said the boy.

Gwendolyn blinked at him.

Morrigan chose that moment to appear, seemingly out of nowhere. “Kieran, you’re not bothering the Inquisitor, are you?”

“Of course not. Did you see the mark on her hand, Mother?” asked Kieran, the little boy, excitedly.

“I did see,” said Morrigan patiently. “And now ‘tis time you return to your studies, little man.”

Kieran sighed dramtically before wandering off into the gardens.

“I didn’t know you had a son. He seems like a very nice young boy. Very polite,” said Gwendolyn.

“Why would you? I take great pains not the let my own reputation affect him. To most in the Imperial Court, he was undoubtedly just another well-spoken child, perhaps the heir to some aristocratic family. He is a curious lad, but not troublesome,” said Morrigan.

“Will his father be joining us as well?” asked Gwendolyn, mentally thinking through Skyhold accomadations.

Morrigan seemed disgusted by the very idea. “No. Kieran’s father is not a part of his life, nor has he ever been.”

“Oh, I had no idea. I’m sorry,” said Gwendolyn in alarm, rapidly attempting to remedy her mistake.

Morrigan shook her head. “’Twas my intention from the beginning to raise Kieran as my own. His father was never more than a means to an end.”

“He seems like a fine young man,” said Gwendolyn.

“But not the sort one might expect a woman like me to raise?” replied Morrigan knowingly.

“I didn’t mean—” began Gwendolyn.

Morrigan looked out wistfully at the gardens to where her son sat reading an old tome. “No son of mine would be raised in a marsh, bereft of contact with the outside world. At the beginning, even his conception was little more than a means of achieving a greater goal. But as he grew, I admit that I have grown…attached. He is my son, and he is everything to me.” She turned to look at Gwendolyn. “Curiously, I owe his existence to the Hero of Ferelden, without whom he never would have been born.”

“The Hero of Ferelden?” repeated Gwendolyn in shock.

Morrigan’s expression, though guarded, was a bit sad as she spoke. “Though we did not part on good terms, she was once a good friend, almost a sister. I regret how things ended with her. ‘Tis a relief to hear that she is no longer imperiled.”  
“What happened between the two of you?” asked Gwendolyn, unable to help herself.

“A story for another time, Inquisitor, and this is not why I wished to speak with you,” said Morrigan as she bid Gwendolyn follow her. The two women began walking back towards one of the doors near the chantry. “Some might think Corypheus a madman for seeking godhood, but one must wonder: what _were _the Old Gods? What secrets of theirs did the ancient magisters know? What I fear—what all _should _fear—is not that Corypheus believes he can succeed: ‘tis that he actually may.”

On that cheerful note, they arrived in was practically an old storage closet, populated only by a tall, thin mirror at the end of the room. Morrigan strode over to it and addressed the Inquisitor. “Are you perhaps familiar with the eluvians, Inquisitor?”

“Magic mirrors of the ancient elves, right?” said Gwendolyn.

“Most are long dormant or broken, but I have found one that still works, and I think you will find it most fascinating,” said Morrigan.

With that, she stepped through the eluvian and dragged Gwendolyn along with her.

They emerged on the other side in a world that was utterly unlike our own. The world was curiously dream-like and foggy, with ancient elven architecture and other mirrors just barely visible through the mist, most of the mirrors having long gone dark or shattered.

“If this place once had a name, it has long been lost,” said Morrigan as they stepped out of the eluvian. “I call it the Crossroads—a place where all eluvians converge, wherever they may be. The ancient elves left no roads, only ruins. These eluvians were how they traveled between lands. Most that remain are dark—broken, corrupted, and unusable. I have one of the few that work.”

“This place is _extraordinary_. How can something like this even exist?” wondered Gwendolyn as she looked around in awe.

“Who can say? Formed from the very fabric of time and space, perhaps. ‘Tis not the Fade, but ‘tis close,” said Morrigan.

“Close enough that someone powerful enough could get through to the other side?” reasoned Gwendolyn.

“Very good, Inquisitor. Close enough, indeed. Corypheus has been searching elven ruins, yes? I believe he searches for an eluvian so that he may enter the Fade through here, in the Crossroads,” said Morrigan.

“But you said only a few were still active. How can they be opened? Or activated?” asked Gwendolyn.

“As any door, each requires a key unique to the eluvian. I have both knowledge and power, which is often enough. I suspect that would be enough for Corypheus as well,” said Morrigan.

“I don’t suppose you happen to know which, if any, eluvian he may have his sights set on?” asked Gwendolyn.

“In the Arbor Wilds, Inquisitor. He will undoubtedly marshal his forces to reach it. You must be prepared to face and defeat them in order to reach it before he does,” said Morrigan.

Her words rang with a painful degree of certainty, and Gwendolyn knew instinctively that she was right about the eluvian. It was dangerous, to say the least, and the idea of Corypheus getting his hands on something like this was…unthinkable. No matter what, they couldn’t let this happen.

Upon returning through the eluvian, Gwendolyn immediately called for a war council meeting, her mind still reeling from everything she’d learned from Morrigan in the Crossroads.

“So, let me get this straight. If Corypheus reaches this eluvian before us, all is lost?” said Josephine.

“That is the gist of it, yes,” said Gwendolyn as she paced along her side of the war table.

“Until we remove their source of red lyrium, I am not confident that we can face both his Venatori _and _Red Templars and win, Inquisitor. That’s not even mentioning Samson,” said Cullen honestly.

“Then we need to eliminate their red lyrium supply as soon as possible. Those notes from the Emerald Graves said something about Sahrnia, yes? Send scouts there to get to the bottom of this,” said Gwendolyn.

“It will be done, Inquisitor,” agreed Cullen.

“I am acquainted with the nobility in Emprise de Lion. I will send word and they will aid in our efforts there,” said Josephine.

“Good,” said Gwendolyn firmly. With that, the war council ended.

There was much to prepare.

\--- 

Scouts were being sent to Emprise de Lion to scope out the situation in Sahrnia, and so life took on a hectic sort of normalcy while we waited. The Chargers and Sera got drunk in the tavern, Josephine entertained nobles, Vivienne was condescending, Solas and Dorian studied—the usual.

It was an unseasonably warm night when Gwendolyn slipped in the door to Cullen’s office and stood leaning against the far wall. He was conducting a meeting of his officers, going over assignments and troop movements. Gwendolyn just stood leaning against the wall, listening to him talk and letting his words wash over her like warm water. After her long days of being the Inquisitor, stressing over eluvians and red lyrium supplies, just being around him and hearing his voice was like a balm to her soul. He could be reading the dictionary and she would still find some comfort in it.

Cullen caught sight of her standing in the back of the room and hastily finished up the meeting. He shepherded the officers out of the office and closed the door firmly behind all of them, sighing as the lock clicked shut.

“Long day?” she asked, not having moved from her perch.

“They’re all long days,” said Cullen as he moved to shuffle papers at his desk. “Although…with how close we are to defeating Corypheus, I must admit that I have begun to think about a time when the days would perhaps be…less long.”

“Oh?” she asked.

“The Inquisition won’t last forever. Once Corypheus is defeated, the Inquisition’s purpose will largely be fulfilled, and my mind has wandered to what might come next,” said Cullen.

Gwendolyn knew that this was heading to one of two places. One route led to her either eventual or immediate heartbreak and the other ensured her present and future happiness. She prayed to Andraste and the Maker that this conversation didn’t end with her sobbing in her room alone later.

She took a few tentative steps forward to lean on his desk with her arms folded. “And when your mind has wandered, where has it wandered to?”

He looked at her and then became very concerned with the papers he was shuffling about. He was nervous. More nervous than any time he’d gone into battle, than any time he’d sent _her _into battle. This was a whole new kind of terror that he was entirely inexperienced with. Why was it that he was both the most comforted and most terrified whenever he was with her?

“Is there…” Cullen took a deep breath. “Is there any chance that we might…once this is over…still…Maker’s Breath, this sounded better in my head. Is there a chance that we might have a future…together?”

She touched his arm and she could swear that he jumped a little. “Cullen, do you even need to ask?”

His gaze held all the warmth of a Tevinter summer as he brushed the hair out of her face and cupped her cheek. “No, I suppose I don’t.”

Gwendolyn couldn’t stand it anymore. Not when he was looking at her like that with his scar pulling so attractively at his smile. She loved him, damn it, and in that moment all she could do was kiss him to let him know. Cullen didn’t even hesitate to respond in kind, wrapping her securely in his arms as she became wedged in between him in the desk behind her. It was a scorching kiss that she felt suffuse her entire body and she was certain that she was on fire. He was everywhere in all of her senses, just as his hands seemed to be everywhere, roaming over her coat in search of buttons. There were far too many layers of armor and clothing between them.

As the hilt of his sword began to dig into her thigh painfully, she broke the kiss long enough to attempt to shift away from the offending weaponry’s way. Honestly, why did he have his sword while he was in his office? Was the paperwork going to attack?

“I do have one condition, though,” said Gwendolyn breathlessly as she shifted slightly, escaping the sword.

“Oh?” said Cullen. His mind was a complete and total fog of love and desire. All he wanted at that moment was to take her up to his bed and spend the night showing her just how much he adored her. He had no idea why he’d been so afraid to ask her about their future. It seemed silly now, when clearly, she felt the same way for him as he did for her. But what condition could she be talking about? Fear gripped him as he realized he might have been assuming too much.

“Nowhere with bears. No Great Bear Grove, no Bear Mountain, Maker, not even anywhere with Bear in the tavern name,” said Gwendolyn.

“That’s your condition?” said Cullen in amusement. His fear evaporated.

“You think I’m joking,” said Gwendolyn.

“No, I don’t think you are,” said Cullen, unable to stop himself from smiling. Maker, he loved this woman.

“It’s my one condition. Otherwise I will happily love you unconditionally for the rest of my life and beyond,” said Gwendolyn.

Cullen looked at her, certain he hadn’t heard her correctly. They’d told each other in many ways before then, but never dared to actually speak the words.

It took a few seconds for her to realize what she’d just said. “I…that’s now I planned that.”

“Do you? Love me, that is,” asked Cullen. He already knew the answer.

“Of course, I do. I—,” began Gwendolyn.

Cullen cut her off with a kiss, long and passionate. And when they finally came up for air, he breathed his reply against her lips, “I love you too.”

When he kissed her again, it was entirely without reservation, pressed flush against her. As he shifted, however, the hilt of his sword smacked into an old wine bottle on the edge of the desk, causing it to fall off and shatter on the stone floor. It startled them both out of the kiss, but only enough so that Cullen took off her scarf, tossed it into a distant corner of the room, and began kissing down her neck instead, enjoying the gentle sighs and sounds it elicited from her.

Things only progressed from there. She’d given Cullen her heart and soul, swore herself to him until she returned to the Maker and beyond. She was his in every way that mattered, save one. And as they retired to his quarters above his office—no need to break anything _else _in Cullen’s office—she became that too. As the armor and clothes fell away, the Commander and Inquisitor disappeared. In that moment, they were only Gwendolyn and Cullen, two people desperately in love, two halves of one heart finally finding their other half. 

\---

Gwendolyn awoke, not to the first rays of dawn peeking through the hole in the command tower roof or a soft kiss from her lover, but to said lover thrashing around. Gwendolyn was not a light sleeper as a rule, but she doubted anyone could ever sleep through something like that. She knew he had nightmares and she wasn’t deluded enough to believe that the simple act of sleeping with her would magically cause them to disappear. That didn’t stop her from worrying, however.

His pulse was rapid, and he was shaking as he murmured responses to the demons that haunted his dreams. Gwendolyn shifted and stroked his face gently, hoping to draw him out of the Fade. She called his name softly and pressed a kiss to his furrowed brow.

Cullen jolted awake and cast his gaze wildly about until he settled on her worried visage and returned to reality. With a groan, he collapsed back onto his pillow and dragged his hands over his face, muttering an apology through his fingers.

“You have nothing to apologize for, Cullen,” said Gwendolyn gently as she pressed a kiss to his shoulder. “Are they always this bad?”

“Without lyrium, they’re worse,” admitted Cullen as he stared up at the ceiling. He shifted his gaze back to her as he rolled onto his side, the early morning light illuminating her pale hair and making her ocean blue eyes sparkle. In that moment, regardless of the nightmares, he felt like the luckiest man in Thedas. “Sorry for waking you.”

She shook her head. “We probably need to be awake soon anyway.”

“Of course,” he said as touched her face gently, reverently, and traced his thumb along the scar on her cheek. He knew how people whispered about it, how Orlesians scoffed and said it detracted from her beauty. He’d never understood that sentiment. He knew that at first she had hated it, loathing how it made her look like the broken doll her family had always made her feel like. Now, he knew, she’d come to accept it as part of herself. Now, that scar was a symbol of her rebellion and strength and how she’d earned her freedom, both from her family and the Circle. He loved that scar.

“Despite the nightmare, is it still a good morning?” she asked, as if the look of utter adoration he was fixing her with wasn’t proof enough.

“It’s perfect,” said Cullen. He kissed her slowly, lazy and languid, settling his hand on the curve of her hip. She slid her hands up his chest and shifted her leg over his, losing herself in the kiss as they became entangled in one another. The kiss quickly grew into something more, the heat from the previous night igniting again as they made love. They took their time exploring each other, learning from every soft sigh and heated glance what the other liked. Somehow it seemed more intimate than the night before. Then, they had both been carried away by the very idea of being together, lost in the urgency of the moment. Now, there was no rush and they could take their time to just enjoy each other.

It was much later that they lay together, her head pillowed on his chest as he carded his fingers through her hair, and she traced lazy circles across his chest. More than the obvious reasons, she loved how relaxed he was, with that sated, lazy smile and his usually styled hair now a ruffled mess of curls. She loved how gentle he was for someone so strong and how after everything he’d been through, he still found some way to love her.

She didn’t tell him any of that, of course. Instead she brought up something else that had somehow managed to get her attention through the absolute fog of everything else about her morning that muddled about in her mind.

“You know, it’s a really good thing that I’m an ice mage,” she blurted out.

He regarded her in amusement. “And why is that?”

“Cullen, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but there’s a rather sizable hole in your roof,” said Gwendolyn.

Cullen shrugged. “I don’t mind it. I prefer the cold at night. Helps with the headaches.”

This wasn’t making her any less concerned. “What do you do when it rains and snows, though?”

“It hasn’t been much of a problem, thus far,” said Cullen.

“There’s no way that’s good for your health,” frowned Gwendolyn.

He pressed a kiss into her hair. “I’m fine. You don’t need to worry.”

She looked at him. “I’ll stop worrying about your health when you stop worrying about my well-being in the field.”

“Gwen, really, I don’t mind,” insisted Cullen. The last thing he wanted to do—the absolute last thing—was create more work for her. With the weight of Thedas riding on her, he hated to add to her list of worries.

Gwendolyn was already thinking through the list of people she would have to talk to regarding roof repairs. She would have to invent a lie about how she’d come across said roof in the first place. There was no reason to let the entire world know that she was intimately involved with—

Someone knocked on the door to the command tower and Cullen’s hand froze in her hair. The person downstairs continued to pound on the door, clearly impatient about something. Incredibly, Gwendolyn was the first to react, scrambling out of bed and pulling on her clothes with all the speed of, well, a naked woman in winter air.

“What are you doing?” asked Cullen in alarm as he watched her dress with near-military efficiency. He might have been impressed if not for both the timing and result.

She kissed him quickly before shrugging on her coat. “I have a plan.”

He looked at her, waiting for her to elaborate, but she didn’t. Instead she just kissed him quickly again, whispered a quick ‘I love you’ and then slid down the ladder to the ground floor. It was around then that he gave up attempting to figure out her thought process.

Gwendolyn opened the door casually to greet a glowering Cassandra.

“Inquisitor? Where is the Commander?” demanded Cassandra immediately.

“I advised him to rest. He had a terrible headache when I stopped by to ask about scouting in Sahrnia and I need my commander at his best, not starting out the day like that,” said Gwendolyn quietly, as if Cullen truly were upstairs attempting to sleep.

Cassandra’s anger evaporated. “Is he unwell?”  
Gwendolyn shook her head. “No, he’s fine. Like I said, just a headache, but we should let him rest. Was there something you needed? Maybe I can help.”

“The Commander informed me that he had word of the missing Seekers,” said Cassandra.

“I’ll find the paperwork and bring it to you. I’m sure it’s on that desk somewhere,” said Gwendolyn.

For some reason, Cassandra did not question this, nor did she question the fact that Gwednolyn clearly had gotten dressed in about two minutes and was without her scarf, the marks of Cullen’s attentions covered her neck. The Seeker was entirely oblivious.

“That should suffice. Thank you, Inquisitor,” said Cassandra curtly.

As Gwendolyn shut the door firmly behind the Seeker, Cullen slid down the ladder fully dressed, and hair perfectly styled. He shook his head in disbelief as he strode towards her. “I think I am beginning to understand how you managed to force the Orlesians into a truce.”

“I told you I had a plan,” said Gwendolyn smugly.

Cullen settled his hands on her waist and kissed her soundly. “I suppose I’ll have to feign a headache now.”

“And give me whatever reports you were supposed to give Cassandra, yes,” agreed Gwendolyn.

Cullen released her and wandered over to his desk to begin the hunt for paperwork. As he did, Gwendolyn began her own hunt for her scarf. She eventually located it hanging off of the hilt of a dagger embedded in his practice dummy and she wound it around her neck in the vain hope that it might cover up what she’d spent her evening and most of her morning doing. Cullen walked over to her, looked at the scarf and smirked as he handed her the reports.

“You’ll be off to Ferelden soon, I take it?” said Cullen.

“I will be?” said Gwendolyn in surprise.

Cullen nodded. “The Seekers are reportedly in Caer Oswin out near the Bracillian Forest, or at least that’s what the scouts are reporting. I can only assume that Cassandra will wish to investigate personally, and I’ve never known you to allow your friends to attend to such things on their own.”

Gwendolyn grimaced. She didn’t relish the thought of leaving so soon.

Cullen kissed her quickly. “Go find Cassandra. I’ll see you later.”

Gwendolyn figured that if she left Cullen’s quarters early enough, no one would notice her walk of shame. It was still early morning, after all, so the only people awake should have been the patrols and, frankly, Cullen since he was an early riser. She thought she would return to her quarters without running into anyone and without them knowing such intimate details of her life. She had never been more glad for the high neckline of her coat or the scarf she often wore, as regardless of the weather they were both particularly necessary that morning. No one needed to see the numerous ways in which Cullen had marked her as his the previous evening and that morning. Just because Cassandra had been mercifully unobservant didn’t mean that anyone else would be.

She failed to take Solas into account. Here she thought she was being sneaky and careful by taking the bridge back through the rotunda. But she forgot about the Fadewalker.

“Did you not wear the same thing yesterday?” asked Solas as he sat reading on the couch in the rotunda.

Gwendolyn stiffened. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”

“I’m sure Cullen would not know either,” said Solas as he casually flipped a page in his book.

Gwendolyn sighed heavily and left the rotunda. She had a feeling that it was going to be a very long day.

To his credit, Solas didn’t tell anyone about what he’d seen. Cassandra remained utterly oblivious to what she had inadvertently stumbled into.

\---

As it turned out, Iron Bull had heard from his Qunari contacts that the Qunari were willing to forge an alliance with the Inquisition against the Venatori as part of their ongoing squabble. It was on the condition that the Inquisitor and a delegation from the Inquisition assist one of their dreadnaughts on a raid of the Venatori on the Storm Coast. Seeing as that was an _excellent_ idea and given that she had already promised to help Cassandra with the Seekers in Caer Oswin, the Inquisitor, Iron Bull, Cole, Cassandra, Solas, and the Chargers went to go handle the situations. Starting with Caer Oswin, given both the logistics and urgency of it.

It was not the wind and rain that had the Inquisitor annoyed as she, Bull, Cole, and Solas met Bull’s Ben-Hassrath contact on the Storm Coast. Gatt, the contact, was once a Tevinter slave who had then fled to the Qun to escape slavery. That alone was, perhaps, understandable. Less understandable was that he kept calling Iron Bull “Hissrad”—which means liar. They call you by a title under the Qun, with Hissrad referring to Bull as a member of the Ben-Hassrath…but referring to Iron Bull as “Liar” royally pissed the Inquisitor off.

As if the past few weeks hadn’t been bad enough, this was only making things worse. The Seekers had been decimated by their own leader, or so they had discovered at Caer Oswin, and Cassandra had even had to kill her own apprentice. Lord Seeker Lucius had turned out to be just as vile as the envy demon who had been masquerading as him in Val Royeaux, slowly sacrificing the Seekers for some deluded Red Templar agenda. Cassandra had ended his reign of terror, but it had left a sour taste in her mouth, particularly after the discovery that the Seekers had not only invented the rite of tranquility, but had a way to cure it.

And now, this was happening.

The mission was simple enough. There were two Venatori encampments on either side of the bay. The Chargers would take one of them, the lower and easier one, and the Inquisitor’s party would take the other one, the higher and more difficult one. Then both would light their signal flares to signal the dreadnaught, which would show up and destroy the Venatori ships. Reasonable enough, yes?

It was all going very smoothly. As predicted, the Chargers had the easier assignment. They dispatched the Venatori and lit their flare in record time. The others took a bit longer, what with their post being farther away and there being more Venatori there. Even so, they were easily able to defeat the Venatori and light their flare. The dreadnaught appeared through the fog and utterly destroyed the Venatori vessel, causing it to crash on shore.

And that’s when things went sour, as they do.

The surviving Venatori, of which there were many, were heading right for the Chargers, who were unaware of the situation. And so, Iron Bull and the Inquisitor were left with a choice: call a retreat to save the Chargers and lose that crucial position, thereby sacrificing the dreadnaught, or to save the dreadnaught, sacrificing the Chargers and leaving them to die at the hands of the Venatori. Saving the Chargers meant forfeiting any potential alliance with the Qun, but was killing the Chargers worth a shaking alliance that could still end at the drop of a hat?

“What do you think, boss?” asked Iron Bull, his inner conflict masked by years of Ben-Hassrath training.

“Sound the retreat,” said Gwendolyn. There was no hesitation.

Bull sounded his horn, calling the retreat. The Chargers abandoned their post just in time to avoid being slaughtered by the Venatori.

“All these years, Hissrad, and you throw away all that you are. For what? For this? For them?” exclaimed Gatt.

“Those are _my men_,” said Bull angrily, a warning in his eyes.

“You fool! You’ll never be welcomed back in the Qun! You’ll be Tal-Vashoth now! You’ve made a mistake, Hissrad,” said Gatt.

As if to emphasize his point, the dreadnaught exploded.

Gwendolyn looked his dead in the eye. “His name is Iron Bull, not Hissrad.”

It would take years for this to have any real consequences. But in the meantime, at least we still had the Chargers, and at least we still had Iron Bull. And perhaps this was ultimately for the best. For whatever he lost, for whatever he regretted, Bull’s place was with the Chargers, with his friends and with his men. They were a family and ultimately at home in the Inquisition. The idea of Iron Bull existing without Krem, Grim, Dalish, and the rest of the Chargers—it’s almost unthinkable. It would be peanut butter without jelly, Leliana without nugs, King Alistair without cheese—utterly unthinkable. No matter the consequences, this was for the best, even if it didn’t necessarily feel like it.


	26. Blood on the Ice

Calling Emprise de Lion cold would be like calling Tevinter kind of warm or Orlesian nobility a little eccentric. Snow blanketed everything and crunched beneath our steps, the river had been frozen solid, and the wind whipped cold and harsh through the broken ruins of Sahrnia. It was perhaps once a proud Orlesian mining town, with a massive granite quarry on the hill, a number of prominent towers, and old coliseums across a now destroyed bridge to Judaschiel’s Crossing. Elven ruins mixed with Orlesian architecture in this frozen landscape, with the Tower of Bone dripping in icicles and Suledin Keep seemingly more an ice castle than an old elven fortress.

And it was fucking cold.

The only heat in the entire region was emanating from massive red lyrium growths that jutted out of the ground and out of buildings, growing in caves and dominating the tower and the quarry. It was so cold that you could see the heat radiating off of that vile stuff, all but boiling the air around it. That’s not to say that we could realistically warm up by the stuff. Never mind the headaches it gave our mages, but it whispers to you, slowly driving you mad.

In other words, there was absolutely nothing good about what we arrived to in the Emprise.

Needless to say, as we trudged through the snow and remains of the town, past hungry, scared residents, certain parties had something to say about this.

“Mountains. Cold. ‘Let’s bring Dorian’,” he complained.

“At least the red lyrium gives off heat?” said Gwendolyn. She was only a little chilled, but otherwise unaffected. There were, occasionally, benefits to being an ice mage in this part of the world.

“I’d rather be cold than touch that stuff,” I said.

“I’m beginning to understand why the Fereldans wear so much fur,” ranted Dorian.

“It’s certainly not for the fashion,” agreed Gwendolyn.

“Make sure to remind the Commander of that, yes? He looked so much better in a uniform,” said Dorian.

“You know the phrase, ‘choose your battles’?” replied Gwendolyn.

“Of course, you already know what he looks like without the fur, don’t you?” leered Dorian.

“Will you stop with that?” snapped Gwendolyn.

“Is he as well sculpted as I think he is? Is he a work of art to rival the greatest of Orlesian masters?” asked Dorian.

“Dorian, I don’t ask you to describe Bull’s physique in excruciating detail, so don’t expect me to tell you about Cullen,” said Gwendolyn.

“Ah, but Bull regularly walks about shirtless. Our dear commander is all bundled up and buried beneath layers of metal and ugly fur,” said Dorian.

“I’ll not objectify the man as the Orlesian nobles did. He clearly exercises and that is all I am willing to say on the subject,” said Gwendolyn.

“Then you admit that he’s quite the specimen—all golden skin and defined musculature,” said Dorian.

“I can and will immolate you if you continue this line or questioning,” threatened Gwendolyn, only half teasing.

“Go ahead. I might actually be a bit less cold that way,” said Dorian.

Cassandra made a disgusted noise.

The conversation was cut short when we ran into a group of Red Templars at the base of the path up the mountain. These were a bit more difficult to kill than the others, which we attributed to how cold we were. At any rate, they were quickly defeated, and we began to make up our way up the mountain towards the quarry. The problem with that was just the sheer number of Red Templars occupying the region. Everywhere you looked, they seemed to pop out of the ground like daisies, ready to kill the Inquisitor and her friends. It was easy to understand how the town had been destroyed after that; the whole place was a battleground. We even had to establish outposts along the mountain, along with Inquisition camps, just to maintain our hold of the path and provide aid to the locals.

Up the mountain, through a cave with red lyrium and a ridiculous amount of dawnstone, we battled our way through Red Templars up through Drakon’s Rise and the Tower of Bone. By that point, the Inquisition had safely reclaimed the majority of the town back from the Red Templars. Now, we just had to clear out the quarry, recapture the keep, and find any clues that might lead back to Samson. Those, we reasoned, would likely be in the quarry.

All of that was somehow accomplished in only a matter of hours, and so, even though we were all tired, cold, and just wanted to sit in a nice warm tent with a cup of tea and a fluffy blanket, we ventured into the quarry. And oh, was it even worse than we had thought. We knew that the Red Templars had bought it off the local owner and were using it to grow red lyrium, but we didn’t realize quite the extent of it. And what’s worse, they’d enslaved some of the locals to work in the quarry. Some of them had been experimented on and fed red lyrium. Others were only used to mine the stuff. But the others…the ones that couldn’t work anymore…became the new sources of red lyrium. They were fed enough red lyrium until it was growing out of them, and then the Red Templars harvested it from their skeletons. It was…monstrous.

The first group of Red Templars we encountered were led by a lieutenant and they seemed to be presiding over one of the five sectors within the quarry. They had a large cage with a number of enslaved locals in it, tucked away in the corner, just waiting to be used as they had others with pickaxes mining the red stuff.

We had the advantage of surprise, and so this group was defeated easily. I unlocked the cage and the prisoners scrambled over each other to escape.

“Thank you for freeing us, but you must find the others!” exclaimed one of them.

“What’s going on here, exactly? How many of you are there?” asked Gwendolyn.

“Five sectors in the quarry, this is one. The Red Templars are using us to mine the red lyrium, and when we can’t work anymore, they use us to grow it. You must take out the lieutenants and the knight-captain. They’re the ones in control,” said the prisoner.

“Thank you. Go find the Inquisition camps. They’ll help you,” said Gwendolyn.

“Maker bless you, stranger,” said the prisoner.

The next three sectors were more of the same. More lieutenants and Red Templars, more cages full of sick and imprisoned townspeople. We defeated the templars, we freed the townspeople, and then we moved on to the final sector.

It was all going just as smoothly as before, although there were an awful lot of templars here. This sector seemed to be the headquarters of the quarry and the entire mining operation. Up a series of ladders, we could even see a little office that served as something of a command outpost.

We were fully engrossed in the battle when things went sour. For a change.

The Inquisitor had just dispatched a Red Templar when her blood ran cold for a reason that had nothing to do with the weather.

“Well, well, well, isn’t this quite the surprise. And here I was beginning to think that I was going to have to track you down again. How kind of you to come to me for once,” said Knight-Captain Cador Trevelyan.

The knight-captain was not quite an atrocity on the outside yet, even for a Red Templar. His once alabaster skin now had an unhealthy pallor to it with bright red veins in stark contrast. His ocean blue eyes were rimmed in red and he had red lyrium growths visible on his arms and shoulders. Still, he’d clearly managed to take to the stuff better than most, even managing to keep his holier-than-thou smug expression intact.

Gwendolyn’s expression was black as she immolated him and then rushed in for the attack.

However they might have been matched up before this all began, time had changed many things, making her more powerful and him, well, red lyrium does nothing if not make Red Templars incredibly strong. 

The fight was, to put it mildly, absolutely terrifying.

When people said that their previous fight had nearly leveled half the Ostwick Circle tower, it had seemed like an over exaggeration. Knowing how easily Cullen had disarmed the man only a few months ago, it seemed as if the battle should have been over quickly. But oh no. However much stronger Gwendolyn might have been than her brother, he’d made up the difference with red lyrium. And now the battle of the age seemed to be going down.

“My pathetic mouse of a sister, leading the heretical Inquisition. What a joke. General Samson will reward me above all others once he hears of how I bested you. Corypheus will grant me godhood for this,” said Cador, his voice crackling and buzzing with red lyrium.

If Gwendolyn had managed to put her past behind her until then, it was absolutely not behind her then. A lifetime of resentment and abuse bubbled to the surface and manifested itself as blackest rage and determination. If she were a weaker mage, she might have become a rage abomination and possessed. But this was Gwendolyn Trevelyan we’re talking about and her pain, her suffering, her anguish—it only made her stronger.

In Tevinter, they say that Andraste was a mage. Ridiculous and beyond heretical in southern Thedas to even consider the idea, and yet, as Andraste’s Herald fought her brother with ice, fire, and lightning swirling around her, it was honestly enough to make you almost wonder.

Even so, the battle was a long and bloody one. The siblings were well matched, one on one, at least with Gwendolyn not thinking even remotely clearly on the subject. But mages don’t have an unlimited amount of mana, and this mage had been fighting all day in the freezing cold. It was beginning to take its toll, and this was not the kind of fight that you could lower your guard for even a second and have any hope of living to talk about it.

A fireball came a little too close to the prisoner-filled cage and one of them screamed in terror. Gwendolyn glanced that way on reflex and only for a moment, but it was enough for Cador to get a window. He kicked her backward hard and she found herself slammed hard against the granite wall, her head bouncing off the stone. Still, in doing that he’d left himself open as well, just not from Gwendolyn’s attacks.

Cador never even saw Cassandra move behind him. He died with a look of absolute shock on his face as the Seeker’s blade ran him through, eyes still focused on his sister as she sat in the snow a few yards away battered and bruised, but very much still alive.

An eerie silence settled over the quarry as the knight-captain collapsed to the ground, his corrupted red blood melting the snow as it pooled around him. That was the last of the Red Templars outside of the keep. The quarry was cleared. We’d cut off their main supply of red lyrium. And now, the Inquisitor’s brother was dead. The man who had tormented and abused her for over a decade was dead. Gone. No more.

Gwendolyn Trevelyan lost one of her two older brothers that day, but as Cassandra helped her to her feet and fussed over her injuries, it seemed that the loss wasn’t much of a loss at all. Because even as she lost a brother from a family who had never loved her, it seemed obvious that she’d managed to gain something of an older sister.

The Inquisitor wasn’t the only one who came from a broken life. We’d all found a place among the Inquisition and for many of us, this really was becoming our family. It was the most dysfunctional group of incompatible idiots and strong personalities, but in the end, we were there for each other. We supported each other through the good times and the bad, through the drinking contests in the Herald’s Rest to overcoming our demons and past traumas. Through victory and defeat, we had each other’s backs. And that, I think, made all the difference.

The Inquisitor was in no shape to be climbing rickety ladders, so Dorian did that part. Inside the quarry’s command center, he found a whole _stack _of letters, files, and correspondences between the knight-captain and Samson himself. And oh, did they not bode well for things to come. But on the other hand, they provided valuable insight into Samson and his possible stronghold.

“He’s got armor made of red lyrium, apparently. How barbaric,” said Dorian as he scanned the letters down there in the quarry with the rest of us.

“Armor? That should be more than enough to drive him mad. I’m surprised it hasn’t killed him. Or turned him into a statue like Meredith,” I said.

“Do the letters say anything else?” asked Gwendolyn. She was leaning heavily on Cassandra’s arm. She’d managed to crack her head but good against that wall, but she had other injuries as well. A minor stab wound here, a graze there, a serious amount of bruising just about everywhere—this was going to require a lot of elfroot.

“It makes mention of Samson preparing to become ‘the vessel’ and then mentions a temple, but doesn’t say which temple. Rather unhelpful in that regard,” said Dorian.

“It is more than we could have hoped. Our people will be able to make something of this,” said Cassandra.

“Curly might actually crack a smile for once,” I said.

“Can we get out of the cold now?” asked Dorian.

“We have to clear the keep before we can go back and make sure that there’s a plan in place to rebuild the town and aid the locals,” said Gwendolyn.

“_You _must rest first. The keep will still be there to assault in a few days,” said Cassandra. 

The Inquisitor conceded the argument, and so we mercifully returned to camp, a sizable campfire, health poultices, and lots of blankets.

\---

We thawed out all the way back to Skyhold, and even then we still felt cold. It was hard to shake off just how terrible Emprise de Lion had been. I mean, a place has to be pretty damn frigid and awful for you to honestly look at the Frostback Mountains and think “ah yes, a warm climate”.

We’d arrived earlier than expected, so soldiers were scrambling to handle us when we showed up. I think the horn sounding our arrival was more of a surprise to them than it was to us. We were so tired after all that, though, that the lack of proper reception was completely fine.

The Inquisitor had only just barely gotten out of the bath when there was a knock at her door. She scrambled to put on clothes before answering it, keenly aware of how her hair still dripped water and how disheveled she looked. She wrenched open the door hurriedly and came face to face with a startled Cullen.

He opened his mouth to speak, closed it, and then said, “Is that my shirt?”

She blinked at him, glanced down at what was, in fact, his shirt, and then looked back at him. “So it is. I suppose that explains why it’s so huge on me. How’ve you been?”

“Better now that you’re back,” said Cullen as he pulled her in for a lingering kiss. “The better question is how have _you _been? The reports out of the Emprise were…varied.”

“Cold. Very, very cold. Maker, it was so cold,” said Gwendolyn with a shudder. “And I’m an ice mage, so that’s saying something.”

“Of that I am well aware. Varric wrote twenty-three pages describing the weather in his report,” said Cullen.

“And you read it anyway,” said Gwendolyn.

“In the hope of finding something helpful among the pages,” said Cullen.

“And how did that work for you?” she asked.

“About as well as you might imagine. Besides the cold, how are you? Are your injuries healing? Are you feeling all right? How are you handling that affair with the knight-captain?” fussed Cullen. Nothing to worry the man like a report from Cassandra detailing in the Inquisitor’s injuries. It had taken some persuasion for him not to personally head into the field to check on her himself.

“Cassandra has had healers following me around since then. I’m surprised I don’t still reek of elfroot,” said Gwendolyn.

“Are you sure?” asked Cullen as he cupped her cheek with his gloved hand.

“I thought I would feel something—anything really—but I just…_didn’t_. I was so angry when I first saw him, especially corrupted like that, but when Cassandra killed him…I didn’t feel anything. Not disappointment, not relief, not sadness, just…_nothing_. Now I’m just relieved that he’s finally gone and out of my life for good. Is that normal?” said Gwendolyn.

“It means that you’re moving past it,” said Cullen.

“I suppose it helps to finally have something worth looking forward to,” said Gwendolyn with a small smile.

Cullen returned her smile. “It certainly does.”

“Have you and Leliana found anything out about Samson’s armor? Or this vessel business? Or the temple he mentioned?” asked Gwendolyn.

“Armor laced with red lyrium sounds like something only a tranquil could make. Do you recall the mage I told you Samson had been helping in Kirkwall? Maddox?” said Cullen.

“You think Maddox made Samson’s armor for him?” said Gwendolyn.

“It’s not an unreasonable assumption. If we can find Maddox, we might find a weakness in the armor. It also stands to reason that Samson’s got his base at this temple. If we find the temple, we find Samson and Maddox, and we deprive Corypheus of his general,” said Cullen.

“Do we know what temple it is? Corypheus has been looking into elven ruins, do you think it could be one of their old temples?” asked Gwendolyn.

“We have a theory, actually. According to Dorian’s research, Corypheus was once a priest of Dumat. It seems more than reasonable that they might use the Shrine of Dumat as a base,” said Cullen.

“_Excellent_ work, Commander,” said Gwendolyn.

“I have nothing else to distract me when you’re not here,” said Cullen.

She smiled coyly at him and began dragging him into her quarters. “Good work should be rewarded, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Is my reward getting my shirt back?” replied Cullen.

“You’ll have to take it back yourself,” said Gwendolyn.

“As tempting as that is, we have a war council meeting soon,” said Cullen.

Gwendolyn groaned and retreated up the short staircase into her room, with Cullen slowly following behind her. “It’s like you’re not happy to see me at all.”

“On the contrary, I am extraordinarily pleased to see you. I would just like more than the ten minutes we have to prove it to you,” said Cullen with a slight smirk.

“I _suppose_ you’re forgiven then,” said Gwendolyn from behind the changing screen. “Is this a general meeting or is there a specific topic for discussion?”

“A general meeting, going over reports and other operations, but I can explain the Samson situation in more detail,” said Cullen.

The Inquisitor finished making herself presentable and the two of them headed down to the war room where Josephine and Leliana were already waiting for them.

“We didn’t expect you so soon,” said Leliana suggestively.

“That seems to be something of a theme today. So, I understand we’re close to finding Samson?” asked Gwendolyn.

“Our scouts are looking for the Shrine of Dumat now, Inquisitor,” said Leliana.

“Removing Samson’s source of red lyrium has dealt them a serious blow. We’ll need to move quickly so as not to lose our advantage,” said Cullen.

“We’ve also received a request from King Alistair and Empress Celene that we facilitate peace talks between Ferelden and Orlais. There is a great deal of bad blood between the nations and our position as ally of both puts us in the perfect position to moderate the negotiations,” said Josephine.

“King Alistair is no diplomat and while Queen Flora is perhaps better at such things, it is in everyone’s best interest that we assist in this matter,” added Leliana.

“Don’t trust the Hero of Ferelden to solve her own problems?” asked Gwendolyn.

“Both sides are only grudgingly doing this, so we must ensure that the talks do not devolve into a rehashing of the Fereldan defeat of Orlais or Gaspard and Flora insulting each other the entire time,” said Leliana.

“With your permission, Inquisitor, I would personally see to it that these talks run smoothly,” said Josephine.

“Absolutely. We need everyone united in a common goal here and putting to rest bad blood between most of southern Thedas would be a good start,” said Gwendolyn.

Josephine nodded. “I will begin the preparations at once, then.”

“Good. Anything else to report?” asked Gwendolyn.

“Well, actually, yes. You recall how I told you that you might eventually need to sit in judgment over prisoners?” asked Josephine.

“And I told you that I would rather not be judge, jury, and executioner. Yes, I recall. What of it?” asked Gwendolyn.

“You will need to sit in judgment over a few prisoners,” said Josephine.

Gwendolyn sighed deeply. “We’re not a ruling body. I don’t have the authority to do something like that.”

“Both Orlais and Ferelden have deferred to us on certain matters because neither could decide who deserved to have jurisdiction. Also, there is the matter of the Avvar leader who, ah, attacked Skyhold recently,” said Josephine.

“I’m sorry, what?” said Gwendolyn in shock.

“We caught him catapulting goats at the walls,” said Cullen.

“Goats,” said Gwendolyn.

“Goats,” confirmed Cullen.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” said Gwendolyn.

“Believe me, I wish I was,” said Cullen tiredly.

“There is also the matter of Lord Erimond, the Tevinter magister responsible for the events at Adamant, the mayor of Crestwood, and the smuggler you found in the Western Approach, just to name a few,” said Josephine.

“Wonderful. You wish to do this today, I imagine?” asked Gwendolyn.

“It would be for the best, Inquisitor. If you wish to rest following your long journey, we would naturally understand, of course,” said Josephine.

“No, that’s perfectly fine. Just give me time to change into something more…authoritative,” said Gwendolyn.

“Wear one of the outfits Vivienne’s tailor made for you,” said Leliana.

Gwendolyn nodded. “Is there anything else?”

“Not for now, Inquisitor,” said Leliana.

\--- 

Gwendolyn couldn’t help but feel that her chair was rather uncomfortable as she sat in her white and silver ensemble on the throne in the great hall awaiting the first prisoner to be brought in. It was a rather imposing, ugly looking throne in her opinion, but she hadn’t had a say in its design. Clearly she hadn’t, or she would have made it more cushiony.

Despite the Inquisitor’s quiet discomfort with the situation, she appeared more than regal as she sat on her throne and exuded a cool aura of authority. It was intimidating, seeing her sit there with a guard on either side, framed in the light of the stained-glass windows behind her. Cullen and Josephine stood a step below, the Commander with his hands resting on his sword and the Ambassador carrying her clipboard. We were all gathered in the great hall to watch the proceedings, and it was quite the intimidating sight.

The guards brought forth the first prisoner: a boulder of a man wearing furs, a horned helmet, and covered in blue war paint. The soldiers brought the chained man forth to kneel on the ground before the Inquisitor to face judgment.

“Brought for judgment, Chief Movran the Under. He is charged with attacking Skyhold…with a goat. You may remember his son as being the Avvar tribesman that captured our men and challenged you to a duel in the Fallow Mire,” said Josephine.

“So, you avenged the death of your son…with a goat,” said Gwendolyn.

“You killed my idiot son, so I retaliated by painting your hold in goat’s blood, as is my custom. He was meant to set a trap for Tevinter invaders, but caught the wrong bait. You know what they say, a red headed mother guarantees a brat,” said Chief Movran the Under.

“What sentence do you recommend, Inquisitor?” asked Josephine.

Gwendolyn considered this before responding. “It seems our encounter was accidental in nature, but it cannot be repeated. I hereby banish you and your tribesmen with all the weapons you can carry to Tevinter.”

Chief Movran the Under chuckled. “It seems my idiot son got us something after all.”

The soldiers took the Avvar chief away and brought in the next prisoner: the mayor of Crestwood.

“Brought for your judgment, Mayor Gregory Dedrick of Crestwood. He is charged with opening the dam and drowning his own constituents during the last Blight, having previously claimed that darkspawn were responsible. The only complication, he claims that they had the blight and was acting to save the remaining members of the town,” said Josephine.

“Well, that’s…messy. What do you have to say in your defense?” asked Gwendolyn.

“They had the blight! Everyone would have died had I not done what I did,” said the mayor.

“And was not a single healthy person caught in the waters? Were no innocents harmed by your actions? If your actions were truly justified, why did you claim that darkspawn were responsible?” said Josephine.

“I could not tell their families what had happened. They would have wanted to stay behind with them,” insisted the mayor.

Josephine glanced at the Inquisitor for her judgment.

“I’m sure Ferelden would happily jail you for your crimes, but as your king and queen were both Grey Wardens during the Blight, perhaps instead we shall consider this: Grey Wardens are said to justify any action in names of stopping the Blight. Your actions are unforgivable, but if you are so _determined_ to stop the blight as to sacrifice your own people, then perhaps you are better suited to them. I’m told the Joining often kills people anyway. Gregory Dedrick, I hereby remand you to the Grey Wardens, either to spend the rest of your days preventing a future Blight and atoning for your crimes, or to die in the Joining,” said the Inquisitor.

The soldiers took him away, with a new set of guards bringing out the Tevinter magister from Adamant.

“Brought for your judgment, Magister Livius Erimond. His crimes are beyond counting, for what he did at Adamant, serving Corypheus, the deaths and corruption of the Grey Wardens of Orlais, the imprisonment and attempted murder of the Queen of Ferelden, not to mention your own personal suffering in the Fade. Ferelden is _loudly_ calling for his head, the Grey Wardens wish him dead, Orlais suggested a number of very creative methods of dismemberment—the judgment falls to you,” said Josephine.

“Is there anything you could conceivably say for yourself?” asked Gwendolyn expectantly.

“You really think that _you _can judge _me_ in this quaint little courtroom? You have no authority. I am a king among men as decreed by Corypheus himself! He will become a god and soon you will pay. Kill me if you must, but I will ascend to a higher plane of existence as Corypheus rules over this world and the next!” ranted Erimond.

“Rather confident of that, are you? The powers that be in Thedas seem to desire your death quite strongly, and I’m inclined to agree. It’s the headman’s axe for you. Let the Maker decide how you’ll suffer in the ‘higher plane of existence’,” said Gwendolyn.

The soldiers escorted him out, ranting and raving the whole way.

The guards next brought in another Tevinter, this one having been responsible for leading the Venatori expedition that dug out Tevinter ruins in the Western Approach, thereby freeing a number of darkspawn in the process.

“Brought for your judgment, Crassius Servis of Tevinter. He is charged with working for Corypheus, apostasy, and smuggling. He also stole what he smuggled, though he was stealing from Corypheus in the process, so that is not, strictly speaking, a crime. His actions also led to darkspawn being unleashed upon the Western Approach, for which Knight-Captain Rylen has requested a number of creative forms of punishment,” said Josephine.

“You stole from Corypheus? That’s either stupidly brave or bravely stupid,” said Gwendolyn.

“Bravely cunning, I should think. Might you have use for my services instead, fair lady?” said Servis with a charming smile.

“Are you…attempting to bargain with us?” said Josephine in disbelief.

“Lovely ladies, I was hired through a third party. I do not _serve _Corypheus, I was not even aware that I _was _serving him by association. But I have _skills _and many people who owe me both money and favors in Tevinter. I could be of _great _use to you. Especially to you, Lady Inquisitor,” said Servis. He laid on the charm so thick, you almost had to wonder if he had a desire demon on retainer.

“You have contacts?” asked Gwendolyn.

Josephine and Cullen both looked at her incredulously.

“I do indeed, fair lady,” said Servis with a winning smile.

“Good. Then if you are so _inclined _to serve, you wouldn’t mind sharing their details with our people. From prison. Guards, if you please,” said Gwendolyn.

“Prison?! You can’t put me in prison! I can be helpful!” exclaimed Servis as the guards grabbed him.

“That kind of help, I do not need,” said Gwendolyn flatly.

The guards dragged him away and brought in the next…prisoner. They delivered a large wooden crate to sit in the middle of the floor. It was buzzing with flies and reeked of decay.

“Brought for your judgment, Grand Duchess Florianne of Lydes,” said Josephine.

“I am fairly positive I already took care of that once,” said Gwendolyn.

Josephine paused for a few moments. “That was the time allotted for rebuttal from the accused. This comes as a request, if a formality, from the Imperial Court of Orlais. Had she been tried in a court of law for her crimes—forgive me, there is an odor—her lands and assets would have been formally seized and distributed. As it stands, there are land squabbles and a fair amount of conflict over the matter. The crown has requested that you formally try her to settle the matter.”

“You want me to judge…a box,” said Gwendolyn.

Josephine shrugged plaintively.

“All right then. I sentence the skull to do community service in the theatre. I also judge the box: end table for orphans. Her trade routes can be remanded to the crown,” said Gwendolyn, looking to Josephine expectantly.

The Ambassador sighed. “You’ve made your point.”

“Is there anyone…or any_thing _else for me to judge? Ladies’ fashions? Hat trends?” said Gwendolyn.

“Mercifully, this was the last of them,” said Josephine.

“Thank the Maker,” exclaimed Gwendolyn.


	27. Wicked Grace

It was only a matter of time before we all got dragged off to the ass end of nowhere to fight demons or something, separated and wildly unhappy. It’d been weeks of work, work, and more work with practically everyone with a title drowning in paperwork and meetings. That was no way to live, and even if it was, the people in question needed a break.

I caught our wildly overworked Inquisitor as she was walking through the great hall with reports one evening, still reading over them and muttering to herself about elven ruins.

“Princess! There you are. I was beginning to think we’d have to start without you,” I said.

“Start what?” she asked blankly.

“Wait and see,” I said.

Somehow, she agreed and followed me to the Herald’s Rest. I’d spoken with the barkeep and reserved the entire place for this little get together, so everything was totally taken care of. A massive table sat set up in the middle of the room with plenty of booze and snacks to go around. I’d dragooned only the best of the best into my master plan: a night of Wicked Grace with the best members of the Inquisition. Leliana, Josephine, Cullen, Blackwall, Cassandra, Iron Bull, Dorian, and Cole were already sitting around the table waiting for us to show up. Sera was already passed out drunk under the table, having attempted and lost a drinking contest with Bull earlier.

“Look who I found everyone!” I said as I took my seat between Dorian and Cullen.

Gwendolyn found a seat next to Josephine. “Dare I ask what this all is?”

“The greatest game ever played: Wicked Grace,” I said.

Cullen made to stand up. “You know what, you have enough people, I should probably get back to work and—”

“Sit down, Curly. If any man in history ever needed a hobby, it’s you,” I said.

“Losing money can be both relaxing and habit forming, Commander. Give it a try,” said Dorian.

Cullen grudgingly returned to his seat.

“So, what do you say, Princess? Want to try your luck?” I asked.

She shrugged. “Why not? Deal me in, Josephine.”

It was quite the game. The Antivan was cleaning shop humbly, which was really only to be expected, but Dorian and Leliana were giving her a run for her money. They were probably cheating, but no one could quite be certain. Iron Bull was playing for the mayhem of it, Blackwall and Cullen were muddling through, Cassandra couldn’t remember the rules, Cole kept talking to the face cards, and the Inquisitor…had a very expressive face that gave her away _entirely_.

Wicked Grace wasn’t _really_ why we were there, so as we played cards and Josephine and Leliana slowly took all our money, we started telling stories over drinks. Iron Bull had one about the Chargers when they fought talking trees, as well as a few other crude ones. Nightingale told us about the time she and King Alistair disguised themselves as deliverymen and lied their way into Fort Drakon to rescue the Hero of Ferelden. Then she told us about the time they reanimated a golem in Honnleath that the locals had thought was a statue, much to Cullen’s horror.

“It was _alive_? We all used to climb on that as children,” said Cullen in shock.

“Her name is Shale. She hates pigeons,” said Nightingale.

“You recruited a golem to help you end the Blight?” asked Gwendolyn in bewilderment.

“Flora said that we could use Shale as both a walking battering ram and a nightlight,” said Leliana.

“Of course she did,” said Gwendolyn.

Cullen told one next, about a recruit at the Ferelden Circle who’d lost his armor through a very long and convoluted plot on behalf of two other recruits. It was a ridiculous story, but he told it well, and had us hanging on to every word. The scantily clad recruit had burst into the dining hall of the Circle and you could hear a pin drop as thirty templars and seventy mages all went dead silent. Then a round of applause started and soon everyone in the room was on their feet giving the recruit a standing ovation. And what did the recruit do? He gave a full salute and marched out of the room as if he was in full armor.

Once the hysterical laughter had died down after that, and the jokes of ‘who knew you could tell a joke, Cullen?’ had stopped, it was Gwendolyn’s turn to tell one.

“Oh, I’ve got a good one,” said Gwendolyn. “It was the night of my Harrowing. There we were: a dozen templars, the Knight-Commander, the First Enchanter, three senior enchanters, and twelve-year-old me. Now, I know Cassandra, Cullen, and Dorian know what goes on during a Harrowing, but for the rest of you, the mage in question takes a potion and goes into the Fade where the enchanters present have summoned a demon to test them. One of the templars there is pre-designated to kill you if you take too long or become an abomination, and if you resist temptation you’re more or less in the clear and receive a nice ring for your trouble. Now, usually it’s just a contest of wills between you and a demon and it’s fairly straight forward. That’s more or less what I expected, but instead of a despair demon or something, the enchanters summoned…a rabbit,” said Gwendolyn.

“What?” said Cassandra.

“You heard me: a rabbit. Everyone was so stunned that they didn’t stop the rabbit from running out of the Harrowing chamber. Now, I was twelve, so I did what any rational twelve-year-old scared out of their wits during their Harrowing would do in this situation,” continued Gwendolyn.

“You followed the rabbit?” said Dorian.

“Of course, I did. They don’t tell you in advance what the Harrowing is, so I thought this was just part of it. Chased that thing through half the Circle tower. And because I was a mage who had physically escaped her Harrowing, all the templars were chasing me as well, so it was really quite the ordeal. The little guy moved really quite fast, so it wasn’t until I got to the kitchens that I actually caught up with it. They were in the middle of dinner preparations, though, so by the time I caught the rabbit, the Knight-Commander had caught up to me as well, and the rabbit jumped on the table. I went to grab the rabbit at the same time the Knight-Commander went to grab me, but as he moved forward I leaned on a cutting board with a pie on it and, well, I got the rabbit and the Knight-Commander got a pie in the face. They made me redo my Harrowing the next day. The whole thing was recorded in the Ostwick Circle histories and locked away in the First Enchanter’s office for posterity. She never looked me in the eye again and the Knight-Commander was always skittish after that,” explained Gwendolyn.

Raucous laughter followed.

“You should tell stories more often, boss,” laughed Iron Bull.

“You know how you know it’s true? I could never write that in a book because it’s too unbelievable,” I said.

“There should be more rabbits in stories,” said Cole.

“That was _scandalous_. It would _ruin _the Inquisition if it ever got out,” said Josephine before turning to Gwendolyn with a wicked smile. “Tell it again.”

We played for some time before it became clear that a bitter rivalry had formed between Josephine and Cullen. The man was a master at chess, but chess is for the honest and strategic. Wicked Grace? That’s for the cheating, crafty, and conniving. And our dear commander didn’t have a lying or conniving bone is his well-sculpted body.

“And that’s another win for me. Who wants another round?” asked Josephine cheerily.

“I’m in. I’ve figured out your tells, Ambassador,” said Cullen.

“_Commander_, everyone knows that a lady has no tells,” admonished Josephine.

“Tell that to the Inquisitor,” said Dorian dryly.

She tossed a card at him. “Rude.”

“Never bet against an Antivan, Curly. It never ends well,” I warned him.

“I am done. That is enough embarrassment for one night,” said Cassandra.

“As am I,” said Dorian.

Leliana quietly folded. She knew when to quit.

Gwendolyn tossed her predictably bad cards onto the table. “Josephine’s taken enough of my money for one night, but I’ve _got _to see this.”

Several rounds, a few drinks, a dare, and some very sneaky card playing later, Josephine had completely swept the game, and the Commander…had lost more than his money.

“Not a word, dwarf,” said Cullen as he glared ahead of him, sitting stark naked at the table.

I tried not to laugh. “I tried to warn you, Curly.”

Josephine wore a shit-eating grin as she collected her winnings.

Cassandra stood from the table. “I am leaving. I have no interest in witnessing the Commander’s walk of shame back to the barracks.”

“Well _I_ do,” said Dorian.

Cole looked at Cullen in amazement. “It comes off. I didn’t think it came off.”

There was a beat of two before Iron Bull and Gwendolyn both burst into hysterical laughter. Bull pounded his first on the table as he laughed, and Gwendolyn was nearly doubled over in hysterics.

Cassandra, Blackwall, Leliana, Josephine, and Cole all left then. After receiving a stern glare from Cullen, Dorian left too. Iron Bull was still drinking, so he stayed put. I got up and stood by the fire, waiting to grab a quick word with Gwendolyn.

Gwendolyn was sitting at the table still admiring the view, but a frosty look from Cullen got her out of the chair to walk over and talk to me. He seized the opportunity to hastily gather his things and make his escape.

“I’m glad you decided to join us tonight. It’s too easy sometimes to mistake you for the Inquisitor,” I said.

“You’re mistaking me for me? Just how much have you had to drink, Varric?” said Gwendolyn.

“It’s easy to forget you’re not just an icon, or a symbol, like one of those statues of Andraste holding bowls of fire. At least, it is for me,” I said.

“Varric, you know who I am,” said Gwendolyn.

“Yeah…but you’re damned impressive. Sometimes it’s nice to see you as…just another person, you know?” I said.

“I understand more than you realize, I think,” said Gwendolyn.

“You up for another game when this is all over?” I asked.

Gwendolyn was trying to hide her smirk. “I don’t know, with every game, I risk the chance of winding up like Cullen.”

“You’re never more alive than when you’re about to lose your pants, Princess,” I said.

“I’ll drink to that!” called Bull from across the room.

His rumbling voice was enough to rouse Sera, who was still groggy and a bit drunk. “Whatsat? Did I win?”

\---

The next day, the Commander was in his office working, as he was often want to do, when the Inquisitor breezed into the office on her rounds. 

“Commander,” she said with a pleasant, flirty smile.

“Inquisitor,” he acknowledged.

“Is there anything I should know?” she asked, just as she always did, expecting some semblance of a report.

“That magic mirror of Morrigan’s—that _eluvian_. I don’t like it being here. If you two can walk through it, then who’s to say that something or someone can’t also walk through it and come here?” said Cullen.

“Have you told Morrigan of your concerns?” asked Gwendolyn.

“I did, and then she offered to use words smaller than four syllables to explain how it worked and why I was wrong to be worried. I believe her exact words were, ‘What is in the water that every blond former templar from Ferelden has fewer brain cells than a mangy dog’,” said Cullen.

“A bit harsh, that,” said Gwendolyn.

“I’m fairly well read,” said Cullen reproachfully.

She raised an eyebrow. “Of that I’m well aware. I’ll try talking to her. At the very least I can feign academic interest. Or I can get Dorian to do it. The two of them can compete for dominance in condescension.”

“Thank you,” said Cullen.

“Anything else?” said Gwendolyn.

“Only that I’m never playing cards again. I still can’t find my—never mind,” said Cullen.

“I don’t know, I rather enjoyed watching you lose,” said Gwendolyn with a smile.

“I don’t need help embarrassing myself in front of _you_,” frowned Cullen.

“You were blushing. It was adorable,” said Gwendolyn.

“Maker’s Breath, ‘adorable’. Just what every man wants to be called,” sighed Cullen.

Gwendolyn giggled, her eyes glittering with mirth as she smiled at him.

“Well, I’m glad one of us is enjoying this,” said Cullen.

“I enjoyed the view immensely,” said Gwendolyn.

“I’m sure half of Skyhold did too,” said Cullen.

“Nobody else has teased you about it, have they?” asked Gwendolyn in surprise.

“There is always gossip around the barracks. If it’s not one thing, it’s another. Still, I would regret it more if there was nothing for them to talk about. Keeps morale up,” said Cullen.

“What kind of gossip?” she asked as she leaned on his desk.

He looked at her plainly. “Gwen, what do you think they gossip about?”

“The impracticality of Orlesian women’s fashion?” offered Gwendolyn.

“No. Actually, maybe, just not in the way you’re thinking,” said Cullen.

“How crude,” said Gwendolyn.

“You’ve trekked halfway across Thedas with Sera, Varric, Dorian, and Bull, and you’re still somehow scandalized by the thought of crude gossip?” said Cullen.

“Fair point. Hey, now there’s an unexpected benefit to your loss yesterday: now everyone will stop asking me what you look like,” said Gwendolyn.

“_What_?” said Cullen.

“I didn’t _tell _them anything. Give me _some_ credit here. Not that any of them have any such reservations,” said Gwendolyn with a shiver. “I know far more about all of their sex lives than I can safely say I _ever_ wanted to know. In detail.”

“My condolences,” said Cullen.

Gwendolyn fiddled with some of the fur on his mantle. “You’re the only one I want to know in that much detail.”

“Cute,” said Cullen.

“Oh, so I can be cute, but you can’t be adorable? Now how’s that for a double standard,” said Gwendolyn.

Cullen looked at her flatly, just as there was a knock at the door. All the messengers seemed to be nervous now whenever they knew the Inquisitor was in Cullen’s office, and always knocked loudly. After how terrified Scout Jim had been months ago after stumbling upon the two of them on the battlements, let’s just say that everyone was a lot more cautious. No one wanted to be the one to walk in on the Inquisitor and the Commander when they were in an amorous mood. It had never happened except that one time with Jim, but the fear was _real_.

“Come in,” called Cullen.

One of Josephine’s messengers walked in, seeming flustered. “Your Worship, Ambassador Montilyet said to come get you because there’s a guest you ought to meet.”

“Thank you for telling me. I’ll be there in a minute,” said Gwendolyn.

The messenger nodded and left the office.

“Duty calls,” said Cullen.

Gwendolyn leaned down and gave him a long, lingering kiss. “I’ll see you later.”

He smiled crookedly at her. “I should hope so.”

The Inquisitor left the Commander’s office and headed back into the castle proper. A few whispers followed her through the great hall, but months of being the Inquisitor had steeled her against the idle gossip of nobility. She opened the door to Josephine’s office, walked three paces, and then stopped dead in her tracks.

“Ah, Inquisitor. We have…something of a special guest. I believe you are already acquainted,” said Josephine diplomatically.

“Ambassador, please send for the Commander,” said Gwendolyn calmly.

“Inquisitor?” asked Josephine uncomprehendingly.

“Well, _someone _is going to need to toss this louse off the mountain,” said Gwendolyn, her eyes never leaving the visitor in question.

Josephine stood irresolute by her desk, unsure of whether she really should go get Cullen.

Lord Jowan Trevelyan, eldest child of Bann Trevelyan, and heir to his father’s title, stood tall, slim, and proud by the fireplace. “Is that any way to speak to your brother, dearest sister?”

“Cador’s dead, Jowan. Unless you intend to join him, I suggest you leave,” said Gwendolyn, her reception frosty to say the least.

“Yes, I heard about that. I trust he made a proper embarrassment of himself, joining those wretched Red Templars and disgracing our family’s good name. You made him suffer, I hope?” said Jowan.

“I have nothing to say to you. Unless you want my general to personally toss you out of Skyhold, I suggest you leave,” said Gwendolyn.

“I am not here to fight you or to ask for money, Gwendolyn. Cador was scarcely better than a barbarian and got what he deserved. When he joined them and our parents didn’t bat an eye, it opened my eyes to what they’d become, to what they’d always been. They have no love for any of their children, myself included. We are all merely tools for furthering their own power. I am so sorry that it took me so long to see what they were doing, Gwendolyn, but I swear to you that I no longer share their sympathies,” said Jowan.

“You really think that you can just walk in here after a lifetime of torment, say a few pretty words, and I’ll just forgive you for everything you’ve done?” said Gwendolyn in disbelief.

“Our parents are as scheming and cruel as the worst Orlesians. I let them dictate my affairs and positions for far too long. I know that nothing I do will undo a lifetime of cruelty and abuse, but moving forward, I want to at least try to fix things. Leaving aside our wretched parents, we are the only family either of us has in the world, and we must stick together,” said Jowan.

The door to Josephine’s office opened then and Leliana briefly stepped inside, took in the scene before her, shot Josephine a meaningful look, and then left the room once more.

“You are absolutely unbelievable,” said Gwendolyn.

“Is it really so hard to believe that I too might wish to escape our parents’ influence? To make amends with you?” said Jowan.

“You’ll forgive me for finding the timing of your grand revelation to be a bit convenient,” said Gwendolyn.

“This has nothing to do with your position,” said Jowan.

“Really. This has absolutely nothing to do with the fact that I’m the Inquisitor and have Orlais, Ferelden, and the Chantry all backing me? Nothing to do with the size of my army or my influence? Really? Nothing at all?” said Gwendolyn coolly.

“All I want is for us to be proper siblings, Gwendolyn. When this is all over, come back to Ostwick and we can start over. Turn over a new leaf, as it were,” said Jowan.

“A second Breach could open in Ostwick and I would still never go back there. Try again,” said Gwendolyn.

He was losing patience with her. “I am the only sympathetic family you have, Gwendolyn. It is by far in your best interest not to burn this particular bridge.”

“I don’t know, I’d say that I’ve done fairly well for myself without your assistance,” said Gwendolyn.

“Everyone knows that you only stumbled your way into power, Gwendolyn. Andraste didn’t put you in power any more than our parents did. You’re a figurehead with a pretty face who sits in a fancy chair while others do the actual grunt work of the movement. Just imagine what you could accomplish if you had _my _support backing you? You’re still unmarried, I expect, so if I secure you an advantageous marriage, imagine how that will strengthen your position? You want to be independent of our parents, that’s fine, so let me help you as your family,” said Jowan.

“We share blood, but we’re not family, Jowan,” said Gwendolyn.

To her credit, Gwendolyn appeared impassive. She wore the mask of neutrality and polite indifference that she typically reserved for Orlesian nobility. She’d put aside her personal feelings as an angry, scorned sibling and let the Inquisitor take over.

“Of course we are. I’m the only family you have. Without me, you’re entirely alone in this world. You need me,” said Jowan.

Gwendolyn regarded him with an arched eyebrow. “I don’t recall ever claiming to be alone.”

“Your colleagues and underlings hardly count,” scoffed Jowan.

“‘Friends are the family you choose’, I believe is the saying,” said Gwendolyn.

“_I _am your family. The people here are just the ones you pay to pretend to like you,” sneered Jowan.

“Allow me to phrase it like this. If you had a malignant cancer, you would cut it out. If there were a parasite on your arm, you would remove it. If you found yourself in a room of poisonous gas, you would vent the gas or leave the room. You excise the toxic element to keep what’s healthy alive. Do you follow me?” said Gwendolyn.

“You have absolutely no idea what you’re throwing away, Gwendolyn,” said Jowan darkly.

“On the contrary, I have an excellent idea of what you and the rest of the Trevelyans intend to offer in the form of assistance or an alliance. Unfortunately for you and the rest of them, it is not an alliance that I judge to be favorable in either a personal or professional sense. Do send my regards to the Bann and Lady Elowen when you report back your failure,” said Gwendolyn.

“How—” began Jowan, stunned that she’d seen through his charade.

“Though you all clearly think me a fool, I assure you that I am not one. Using guilt to tie me to your family tree or appeal to my bleeding heart isn’t going to work, so please do stop trying,” said Gwendolyn.

Jowan spluttered.

The door to Josephine’s office opened and both Leliana and Cullen walked in.

“What seems to be the problem, Inquisitor?” asked Cullen.

“Excellent timing, Commander. I believe Lord Trevelyan here has overstayed his welcome. Perhaps your men would like to remind him where the front gate is located?” said Gwendolyn.

Jowan took one look at Cullen and decided that the man likely _could _probably throw him off a mountain.

“At once, Inquisitor. I’ll see to the matter personally,” nodded Cullen. He opened the door to the office and held it open. “At your leisure, My Lord.”

Thoroughly beaten, Jowan left the office, the door falling closed with a definitive click.

“Well, that was…unpleasant,” said Josephine in the silence that followed.

“The Trevelyans are relentless, it appears. Open denouncement has apparently done nothing to quell their attempts at controlling you. Perhaps we ought to offer threats in a language they understand?” said Leliana.

“What do you suggest?” asked Gwendolyn.

“A few well-placed rumors of assassins typically work, in my experience,” said Leliana.

Gwendolyn nodded. “Do what you must. I’d rather not have them anywhere near the Inquisition.”

“I had no idea that they were so…so…_unpleasant_,” said Josephine.

“Nor do most people, I’m afraid. I think I bring out the worst in them,” said Gwendolyn.

“Are you all right?” asked Leliana.

Gwendolyn looked at her in mild surprise. “Of course. They’re more a mild irritation at this point than a genuine pain.”

Leliana nodded.

“I apologize for the disturbance. I am fairly certain it won’t happen again. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have reports I need to get through before our war council meeting later,” said Gwendolyn.

As she left the room, Leliana turned to Josephine. “Should we be concerned?”

“I do not think so. The Trevelyans are unlikely to retaliate in any meaningful way and the Inquisitor seems to be handling herself well enough,” said Josephine.

“I will send my agents anyway,” said Leliana.

“She said that her friends were the only family she needs. Do you think she meant it?” said Josephine.

“The bonds forged through battle in a time such as this are often stronger than even those of family. I am not surprised she feels that way. Even when your family fails you, your friends will not,” said Leliana.

“It’s rather sweet, isn’t it?” said Josephine.

“Half the Inquisition could qualify as the drunk uncle,” mused Leliana.

Josephine giggled. “I suppose you’re right.”

“Cassandra as the strict aunt or older sister,” said Leliana.

Josephine was still giggling.

“Obviously I would be the fun aunt,” continued Leliana. “I can see you as the sweet younger sister?”

“What about Cullen?” asked Josephine.

“The pet mabari,” said Leliana flatly.

Josephine’s laughter carried all the way through into the great hall, making the nobles wonder what in the world could possibly be so hilarious. 

\---

Gwendolyn was minding her own business, drinking a cup of tea in her quarters as she read over the morning’s dispatches, when there came an urgent knock at her door. It was still early, and the knock lacked either the casual nature belonging to her friends or the curt, professional one used almost exclusively by quite possibly the only person who needed to be neither curt, nor professional with her. No, a knock like that could only come from a messenger, and a very frightened one at that.

The Inquisitor hurried down the short staircase to her door and opened it, only to come face to face with one of Cullen’s messengers.

“Your Worship, Commander Cullen sent me, Your Worship. The Commander requests you meet with him at once, Your Worship. He said it was very urgent,” said the messenger.

Gwendolyn could only imagine the terror her commander had instilled in this poor kid. “Thank you for telling me. I’ll be there right away.”

Figuring that Cullen would never _summon _her unless the situation was dire, she quickly pulled on her boots and coat and all but ran over to his tower. Skyhold wasn’t on fire, she couldn’t see an army approaching, and there was no dragon actively attacking the fortress, so she could only imagine what crisis could warrant such urgency.

“What is it? What’s wrong?” asked Gwendolyn as she rushed into his office.

Cullen straightened from where he’d been bent over his desk. “We have him, Inquisitor! We’ve found Samson’s lair.”

“That’s fantastic!” said Gwendolyn.

She knew this had been no small task. In addition to his usual duties of being the Commander of the Inquisition’s forces, Cullen had been working tirelessly to track down the Red Templar general. Using Maddox as a lead, he had begun to hunt down anyone providing equipment and supplies that Maddox might need for Samson’s armor: lyrium, reagents, dwarven tools, and so on. Cullen had set up patrols along roads and bridges for any sign of Samson’s forces trading and moving equipment. Recently, though, his men had tracked a shipment of supplies into the wilderness. Enough supplies necessary to support a massive hold. It could mean only one thing: they’d finally found the Shrine of Dumat and Samson’s headquarters.

“My duties usually keep me here, but for Samson? I’ll make an exception,” said Cullen.

That much shocked Gwendolyn and terrified her. Samson was Corypheus’s second in command and she’d sooner send anyone and everyone to go fight a high dragon than go anywhere near Samson, never mind the man she loved. “Samson still has that red lyrium armor.”

“All the more reason for me to go. I would…sleep better, if I knew I would be at your side,” said Cullen softly, and then returned to his usual tenor. “We’ll depart at your leave.”

Gwendolyn nodded. “Give me an hour to get everyone in gear and we can be on our way. Steel yourself for the commentary, though.”

“I hope that isn’t your attempt at getting me to stay,” said Cullen.

“No, this is just me preparing you for all of the ‘couples’ retreat’ and ‘romantic getaway’ teasing you’re about to experience nonstop for several days. I know better than to try and dissuade you from this course of action. You have the same look in your eye that you get when you’re about to beat me at chess. And frankly, if we’re going to be facing Samson, I’d rather do so with help,” said Gwendolyn.

“Like I said, I will sleep better knowing that I’m with you,” said Cullen.

“Sleep better or sleep at all?” said Gwendolyn.

“Precisely,” said Cullen.


	28. Fallen Templars and False Wardens

Typically, when we traveled, it felt a bit like a discombobulated group of misfits camping in the wilderness complaining about the fact that we were a discombobulated group of misfits camping in the wilderness. Sometimes there were scouts and soldiers, but usually it was just us camping out under the stars, freezing our asses off and arguing over whose cooking was the worst.

Adding Cullen and his men to our traveling party had added a certain degree of authority and class to our little operation. Instead of Bull or Cassandra holding up a map and telling us where we needed to go, the Commander made the whole thing seem like an actual military operation. And you’d think that being that stoic and in charge would make him too uptight to just sit around a campfire and eat terrible stew with the rest of us, but he did. I don’t think I’d go so far as to say he _relaxed_, but he was marginally tolerable, which I considered an improvement. He even suffered through our teasing like a real champ. If we were heading anywhere other than to find Samson, I don’t think he would have been so high strung, but the man was clearly terrified for his lady love, and there was no teasing to be had about that.

It took a week and a half to reach the Shrine of Dumat in northern Orlais, deep in the ass-end of nowhere. It was an ancient Tevinter religious site, which naturally meant that it was ugly as sin and built to withstand the ages. The place was massive for a glorified chantry, but it was nowhere near on the scale of Skyhold. Still, it was a fairly imposing structure, what with those Red Templar flags fluttering in the midday sun and the large pointy metal things sticking out of the sides.

In true military fashion, we were positioned just behind the tree line, crouched down behind an outcropping of rocks as we visually scoped out the situation.

“No Red Templars visible, but that doesn’t mean shit,” I said.

“I do believe that is smoke I see rising from the courtyard. Odd, I don’t think that’s _meant_ to be there,” said Dorian.

“This does not bode well,” agreed Cassandra.

“Well? What are we waiting for? Samson to send us a written invitation? Let’s go,” said Gwendolyn as she started to get to her feet.

Cullen yanked her back down to the ground. “Do you always charge in through the front door without a strategy?”

“It’s the most direct route,” said Gwendolyn.

“History will not remember your failed frontal assault,” frowned Cullen.

“Do you see this group of people? This group does not _sneak _anywhere. There’s no side door, so let’s just _go_,” said Gwendolyn.

“I vote we charge,” said Bull.

Cullen frowned at him.

“What? Think of the mayhem,” said Iron Bull eagerly.

Cullen looked pointedly at Gwendolyn.

“I don’t see why we just don’t go in through the front door. It’s a temple, not a castle. There’s one point of entry, we go in the one point of entry,” said Gwendolyn.

“Which one of us has actual military experience here?” said Cullen.

“Oh, and how many ancient Tevinter fortresses have you stormed, hmm?” replied Gwendolyn.

“I am your advisor on military affairs, and my _advice_ to you is to exercise a modicum of caution before storming in through the front doors to a heavily fortified stronghold with _Samson_ inside,” said Cullen.

“All right, Commander, I’ll consider your advice,” said Gwendolyn. She paused for roughly three seconds before saying, “All right, I’ve considered it, and I’ve elected to ignore it.”

Cassandra rolled her eyes dramatically.

Cullen sighed deeply. “Tell me this is not what you do when you fight high dragons.”

Dorian cleared his throat. “If Mother and Father are done fighting, might we be going?”

Much to the careful Commander’s chagrin, we walked in through the front doors. At his insistence, we were cautious about it. But as it turned out, it didn’t much matter if we were cautious or not. We could have casually strolled right in through the front door eating pie and no one would have cared. The place looked…sparsely populated. There were no Red Templars immediately visible, even as their flags and tents lined the main courtyard. A few loose beams in a pile that were on fire, and smoke seemed to be coming out of the main building. Still, Samson was supposed to be here, and clearly this was the Red Templar stronghold, so we needed to find him.

“This is it. The heart of Samson’s command,” said Cullen.

“I don’t see him anywhere. Or hear him,” said Gwendolyn.

“Nor I. Maker, tell me he hasn’t fled…” said Cullen.

We headed through the main courtyard and up the stairs to the main building. Just as we were about to head inside, the Red Templars finally bothered to show themselves, albeit, not many of them. A dozen knights, five shadows, and two behemoths were on us like white on rice. The only good thing? The setup of the staircase and main doorway made it difficult for the behemoths to attack us at all, never mind together. Having three seasoned warriors along with me and the two mages meant that we had a decent setup of close quarters combatants and ranged firepower. The Inquisitor’s spirit blade meant that she could do both, making her a versatile fighter, able to fight from a distance or in close quarters. It was a system that worked like paragon crafted machinery, and we had the Red Templars defeated in no time.

Heading inside, it became apparent that the Red Templars had indeed fled the field. Whatever the Shrine of Dumat might have been before, now massive red lyrium growths and a fire-ravaged infrastructure dominated the temple.

“This place is already half destroyed,” observed Gwendolyn.

“Samson must have ordered his templars to sack his headquarters so we couldn’t,” said Cullen bitterly.

“Sorry, Curly. Someone tipped off Samson you were coming,” I said.

“I think you’re right. Still, we’ve dealt Samson a blow if he’s running like this,” said Cullen.

“You must have been a truly terrible roommate,” said Gwendolyn dryly.

Cullen shot her a look.

“Let’s look around. Somehow, I doubt the Red Templars were entirely thorough,” said Gwendolyn.

“Agreed,” said Cullen.

We headed through the damaged building towards a set of doors in the back of the main room, intricately carved with images of dragons and made of better stuff than anything else we’d seen. We headed inside and both Gwendolyn and Dorian winced upon crossing the threshold. This main room wasn’t on fire like everything else, but there were massive red lyrium growths everywhere. It was clearly Samson’s command center, holding his desk, bed, and other necessities. But as we walked inside, it was the lone occupant of the room that caught our attention.

A tranquil man sat by the far wall with his hands folded on his lap, face as serene as ever despite the destruction around him. Cullen walked over and knelt beside the man, clearly recognizing him, and Gwendolyn stood awkwardly nearby.

“Hello, Inquisitor,” said the tranquil.

“You know me?” said Gwendolyn in only mild surprise. Of course this random stranger knew her. Seemingly everyone knew her. She couldn’t go ten paces without someone recognizing her, even in the middle of nowhere in enemy territory.

“It’s Maddox. Samson’s tranquil,” said Cullen. “Something’s wrong. I’ll send for the healers—”

“That would be a waste, Knight-Captain Cullen,” said Maddox. “I drank my entire supply of blightcap essence. It won’t be long now.”

Gwendolyn winced. That must have been agonizing. “We only wanted to ask you a few questions, Maddox.”

“Yes. That is what I could not allow,” said Maddox. “I destroyed the camp with fire. We all agreed it was best. Our deaths ensured Samson had time to escape.”

“You threw your lives away? For _Samson_? Why?” said Cullen.

“Samson saved me even before he needed me. He gave me purpose again,” said Maddox. “I…wanted…to help…”

With that, Maddox slumped forward, the poison finally catching up to him and stealing what life was left in him.

Cullen closed his eyes slowly, shook his head, and got to his feet. “We should check the camp. Maddox may have missed something.”

As we all spread out, sifting through rubble and the desks, Gwendolyn approached her distraught commander.

“This is a dismal place to die. It can’t have been much of a place to live, either, under Samson’s command,” said Cullen.

“What else do you remember about Samson? Is there anything useful that would help us here?” she asked.

“Does it matter?” asked Cullen bitterly. “‘He used to be kind’ only carries so far. Yet Maddox died to help him escape. Samson does command loyalty.”

“We can’t leave Maddox here. He should be properly laid to rest,” said Gwendolyn.

“I’ll have someone take care of it. If even Samson did his best for Maddox, we can do no less,” said Cullen.

We kept looking around the room and came upon a huge stash of vials.

“Lyrium bottles. Licked clean,” observed Cullen distastefully.

“Drinking it, wearing it, growing it—you can’t say Samson isn’t committed,” I said.

“How much red lyrium is Samson taking? His resistance must be extraordinary,” said Cullen.

Moving on, and after sifting through the disaster that was the desk, we came upon something of actual use. Mostly, Gwendolyn just found old letters from her brother, which she happily tossed into the nearest fire. More importantly, Cullen found a letter. From Samson. Addressed to him.

“Samson left a message. For me,” said Cullen as he picked up the missive.

“What does it say?” asked Gwendolyn.

“‘Drink enough lyrium, and the song reveals the truth. The Chantry used us. You’re fighting the wrong battle. Corypheus chose me as his general, and his vessel of power.’ And other such nonsense. Does he think I’ll understand? What does he know?” said Cullen irritably.

We kept moving, still having not found anything _particularly _useful. But then, we found Maddox’s workstation. For a man who had been extremely thorough in destroying everything useful in the temple, he’d completely ignored his own stuff.

“This must have been Maddox’s room. Or workstation. Or…something,” said Gwendolyn.

Cullen immediately gravitated to a pile of things that could only be described as tools. “The fire couldn’t destroy these entirely. Whatever they are.”

“Those are lyrium-forging implements. Of _remarkable _design. Intact, they’d be worth a fortune,” said Dorian.

“Tranquil often design their own tools. Dagna should be able to make sense of them,” said Cullen. “If Maddox used these to make Samson’s armor, she could use them to unmake it. We have him.”

“Oh, I have a feeling that this will make her year,” said Gwendolyn.

“Now, not to complain, but it is growing a bit hot in here, so might we be _leaving _the burning building?” said Dorian.

“Oh, so now you’re too _hot_?” I said.

“There is _fire _around us, so yes, I am a bit too warm at the moment,” huffed Dorian.

“First you’re too cold, now you’re too hot—are you ever comfortable?” said Cassandra.

“The South is an abysmal mixture of sand, dust, ice, and uncultured heathens. The weather is terrible, the people are only just civilized, and it’s either freezing or scalding with no in between,” complained Dorian.

“Then let’s get you back to Skyhold in the cold. Then we can get _warm_,” said Iron Bull suggestively.

Cassandra made a disgusted sound.

“Maker, and here I thought we’d go a whole day without that,” grumbled Gwendolyn.

“Not. Likely,” said Cullen. 

\---

Back at Skyhold, Dagna had been beyond ecstatic to receive Maddox’s tools. She’d been bouncing up and down with the idea of working on them, and so had immediately jumped at the chance to reverse engineer Samson’s armor.

And so, following that, Gwendolyn found herself in Cullen’s office, being updated on the situation.

“The red lyrium deposits are being destroyed, and we’ve cut the Red Templars down to the core. It’s a pity Maddox thought his sacrifice was the only answer. But that leaves Samson with a severely curtailed army, and enchanted armor he can’t maintain. You did it,” said Cullen.

“We both fought to make this happen, you even more than me. Don’t sell yourself short,” said Gwendolyn.

“Well, I—thank you. But my work’s not done yet,” said Cullen. He wasn’t accustomed to receiving praise for his work like that. Although by now he should have expected as much from the Inquisitor. “We’re getting more recruits by the hour. There’s more than a few ex-templars among them. We’ve struck a blow and given people hope. This is a true victory.”

Dagna burst into Cullen’s office before Gwendolyn could respond, totally not caring about anything that was happening.

“Inquisitor, I finished it! Are you talking? Sorry. Have it anyhow,” said Dagna cheerfully as she stuffed a rune at Gwendolyn.

“You mean this rune?” asked Gwendolyn.

“It’s not just _any _rune. I made it with red lyrium and what’s left of poor Maddox’s tools. The rune acts on the median fissures of the lyrium to—it’ll destroy Samson’s armor. He’ll be powerless,” explained Dagna.

“We should render our enemies powerless at a stroke more often,” said Gwendolyn in amusement.

“Maddox covered Samson’s tracks thoroughly. But wherever Samson’s retreated, we’ll find him,” said Cullen. “Your army stands ready, Inquisitor. For Samson, for Corypheus, for whatever you command.”

“Does the army need things to explode? I can help with that. I really, really want to help with that,” said Dagna.

Cullen looked a bit green at the very idea.

“Well, if that’s all for today, I should be going,” said Gwendolyn as she hurried out the door.

“So, what do you say? Explosions, right?” said Dagna.

Cullen sighed deeply.

\---

There was a lot of work to be done as scouts began reporting Red Templars heading south. Venatori activity certainly hadn’t stopped, there were always Fade rifts popping up, and it seemed like every time you turned around, the Inquisitor was running off somewhere to save the day. It was a long, difficult couple of weeks, and it took its toll on a lot of people, most of all the Inquisitor. She wasn’t the type to admit she needed a break, nor was she the type to let someone else do something for her, so even when she was at Skyhold, she was always working. Working herself ragged, more like, and it was only a matter of time before it caught up with her.

It was mid-afternoon when the Commander knocked on the Inquisitor’s door, only to receive no response. He knew she was in her quarters, if only through process of elimination. She had said that she would be there, so why wasn’t she answering? Cullen waited an entire minute before barging in anyway. He needed to make sure that she hadn’t collapsed dead on the ground or suffered any other horrible fate.

Sure enough, Gwendolyn was sitting at her desk, her head resting on a stack of paperwork, sound asleep. Not entirely surprising, given how much she’d been working lately. Still, sleeping at one’s desk was not the best, which Cullen could attest to, and so he was left with the dilemma of rousing her or moving her to her bed.

The decision was made for him by an urgent knock at the door and he was forced to awkwardly answer.

Needless to say, Scout Jim was mortified to see the Commander standing in the doorway.

“The Inquisitor is otherwise occupied. What is it?” demanded Cullen.

“Sister Leliana has called a war council meeting, Commander Cullen, ser. She says it’s important,” said Scout Jim.

Cullen nodded in acknowledgment and closed the door.

He headed back up the stairs into her quarters and went to rouse the Inquisitor. He touched her shoulder gently and she immediately sat bolt upright, a report stuck to her face.

“Apologies. Ordinarily I’d let you sleep, but Leliana’s called a war council meeting, and I expect it’s somewhat urgent,” said Cullen as he peeled the report off her face.

Gwendolyn’s groggy mind took a few moments to take in her surroundings and comprehend his words. “Do you know what it’s about?”

“I haven’t the faintest. I originally came to deliver reports regarding Red Templar movements and Venatori exploration of elven ruins,” said Cullen.

Gwendolyn nodded and slowly stood from her desk, stretching and rubbing the sleep out of her eyes. The two of them then headed down to the war room where Leliana and Josephine were already waiting for them.

“What’s going on? Is something wrong?” asked Gwendolyn.

“Blackwall has disappeared,” said Leliana.

“What do you mean ‘disappeared’?” frowned Gwendolyn.

“He is not in Skyhold. All of his things are gone. He left a short note addressed to you, saying that you’ve inspired him to take responsibility for his actions and do the right thing, and must therefore leave,” said Josephine. She had been rather fond of Blackwall but was trying not to show how much his disappearance hurt her.

“Well, that sounds ominous. Do we know where he’s gone?” asked Gwendolyn.

“We also found a page taken from one of my intelligence reports. A man by the name of Mornay is to be executed in Val Royeaux. We believe he may be intending to attend the execution. Perhaps he knows the man,” said Leliana.

Gwendolyn rubbed her forehead. “As if I don’t have enough to worry about without my companions going AWOL. When’s the execution?”  
“In one week. If you leave tomorrow, you should be able to get there in time to sort this mess out,” said Leliana.

“What’s this Mornay character accused of?” asked Gwendolyn, dreading the answer.

“Conspiring to murder an Orlesian duke and his family, including the man’s four children, as part of the Game several years ago,” said Leliana.

“_Wonderful_,” said Gwendolyn. 

\---

It was raining in Val Royeaux when we arrived on the day of Mornay’s execution. The Summer Bazaar lacked its cheerful opulence as the rain soaked into the buildings and thunder rumbled overhead. A crowd was gathered around the gallows by the apple trees as a bald man was led onto the platform by guards. Another guard read off the list of charges: conspiracy to commit murder, murdering Duke Callier, his wife, and their four children.

“I was just following Captain Rainier’s orders,” pleaded Mornay, but that was little defense compared to the charges against him.

Just as the man was about to be hanged, Blackwall walked onto the stage. I knew where this was going, even if no one else did. I’d written too many tragedies not to see how badly this was going to end.

“Blackwall! What are you—?” began Gwendolyn angrily from where we watched in the crowd.

“That is not who I am. My name is Thom Rainier, Captain in Empress Celene’s army. I ordered the attack on Duke Callier and his family. This man, Mornay, was only following my orders. He is innocent of treachery. Take me instead,” said Blackwall, a.k.a. Thom Rainier.

“Well, shit,” I said as the crowd erupted in jeers and shocked chatter.

Dorian swore in Tevene.

Gwendolyn wore a black expression as Rainier was taken away by the guards. This was, after all, not the turn of events she had expected or desired. She didn’t take complete and utter betrayal lightly. Hawke and the Hero of Ferelden had warned her that perfidy was more painful than any wound, and they hadn’t been wrong.

\---

The Val Royeaux City Jail was not an optimistic locale. It was dank and dark, water dripped down the walls from the rain outside, and it just _felt _like a place where dreams went to die. The only other prisoners there were petty thieves, but it wasn’t difficult to find Rainier’s cell at the back of the cellblock. He sat against the wall among the straw looking like the picture of guilt and repentance.

“So, I expect you have some explanation for your actions, Captain _Rainier_? Let’s start with why you apparently had an entire family murdered, allowed your subordinates to take the fall for it, pretended to be a famous Grey Warden, lied to the entire Inquisition, and allowed us to wrongfully use the Grey Warden treaties,” said Gwendolyn, her voice more chilling than the cold, damp air of the jail.

“It was all just part of the _Game_. I thought I was helping my country, or at least that’s how they made it seem when the noble put the gold in my hand and told me to do it. But no, it was just petty nobles squabbling over nothing, just like it always is. It was just supposed to be the duke. No one else was supposed to get hurt. I wouldn’t have done it if I knew the children were there,” said Rainier.

“And then instead of owning up to your actions, you ran?” said Gwendolyn.

“Like a _coward_, I ran. I let my men take the fall for _my _mistake. I thought I covered my tracks, but a Grey Warden found me anyway. Warden Blackwall—the _real _Warden Blackwall—wanted me for the Grey Wardens. He heard my story, knew of my situation, and wanted me anyway. The Grey Wardens needed good warriors, and they always take all types. The Wardens should have been my redemption, but before he could take me back to their headquarters, we were set upon by darkspawn. Warden Blackwall died, so I became him instead,” said Rainier.

“You just assumed his identity?” fumed Gwendolyn.

“I wanted to stop the world from losing a good man. He had done good work as a Warden, and I hoped to continue that in his stead. The Wardens wouldn’t have taken me on my word. They would have thought I killed him instead. So yes, I became him. And until I joined the Inquisition, I’ve been traveling alone, trying to atone by helping others become their better selves,” said Rainier.

“So, this is how you justify it all,” said Gwendolyn.

“I’m not justifying my actions. What I did was unforgivable. But you’ve given me the courage to finally do what I should have done long ago, to take responsibility for my actions, and to set things right. The world needs more people like you. Like Warden Blackwall. And I need to be an example for those who would falter like me,” said Rainier.

The Inquisitor had heard enough. She left the cell block and returned to the upper offices. She was prepared to leave Val Royeaux and let Rainier rot in that cell for all eternity when a familiar voice stopped her.

“Inquisitor,” called Cullen.

Gwendolyn turned to surprise to see the Commander standing by the jail warden’s desk with the warden in question.

“Commander? When did you get here?” asked Gwendolyn.

He handed her a stack of files. “This is everything Leliana could find on Thom Rainier. He’s somewhat enigmatic, but there’s enough there to make the situation fairly clear.”

“I expect Orlais intends to execute him for murder and treason?” said Gwendolyn, her eyes flicking to the warden as she accepted the file.

The warden was quietly terrified to have both the Inquisitor and the Inquisition’s commander standing around glaring at him. Their collective reputations proceeded them. Still, he had his orders. “The prisoner Thom Rainier is to face execution if left in the custody of Her Imperial Majesty, yes. However, given the great service Your Worship performed for Her Imperial Majesty at Halamshiral recently, she is willing to release him into Inquisition custody to face judgment.”

“Is that so?” said Gwendolyn coolly.

“Josephine pulled some strings, but you can still leave him here to face justice should you wish it,” said Cullen.

“What would you suggest?” asked Gwendolyn.

“What Blackwall—Rainier did to the men under his command is unforgivable, never mind the crime they committed in the process. Still, when given the opportunity, he did help others, step forward to admit to his crime, and join the Inquisition of his own volition,” said Cullen.

Gwendolyn nodded slowly as she considered her options. “Have him brought to Skyhold. He’s a murderer, a cheat, and a liar, but his sword arm is still good. I’ll think on what to do with him. Maybe this can be his chance to atone.”

\---

Gwendolyn returned to Skyhold like a storm cloud rolling in off the Waking Sea. You can’t really blame her, though, all things considered. I mean, I’d be pretty pissed too if I’d just discovered that one of my close friends was secretly a murderer and had been lying about quite literally every aspect of his life for months. Been there, done that, still not over it. She wasn’t the only one who was angry. We were all angry and hurt by this. Sera was taking this especially hard, since she and Blackwall had been best friends. Josephine wasn’t handling it well either, but she hid it better. 

It took a few days for the prisoner to be transferred from Orlais to Skyhold. After that, it took a few hours to process him and have him brought into the great hall for judgment. People had turned out in full force to witness this particular judgment, with rumors of what had happened circulating the room and whispered speculation as to his fate filling the air.

The Inquisitor, to her credit, was treating this like every other judgment she’d had to do in the past. She was dressed in all white and silver, with boots, gloves, and coat made of the finest white dragon wing. Her shirt was made of silver silk, and her scarf was blood red. As if the Inquisitor needed help being terrifying, Cullen, Josephine, and two guards stood up there with her, all of them bathed in the afternoon sun that streamed in through the windows behind them.

Two guards more or less dragged the man formerly known as Blackwall through the great hall and forced him to his knees before the throne.

“For judgment this day, Inquisitor, I must present Captain Thom Rainier, formerly known to us as Warden Blackwall,” said Josephine solemnly. “His crimes…well, you are aware of his crimes. The decision of what to do with him is yours.”

“Is is there anything you have to say for yourself beyond self-pity?” said Gwendolyn.

“How did you get me here?” asked Rainier.

“Ambassador Montilyet pulled strings,” said Gwendolyn.

“The world will learn how you used your influence. What happens to the image the Lady Ambassador struggled to create? Now everyone will know the Inquisition is corrupt and her hard work will have been for naught,” said Rainier. “You could have left me there! I accepted my punishment. I was ready for all this to end. Why would you stop it? What becomes of me now?”

“While leaving you to rot in a cell does appeal to me, the reality of the situation is that we are at war. We do not presently have the luxury of hanging our allies, however much the law may deem them worthy of execution. The real Blackwall intended you join the Wardens. I will let them decide your fate. Once Corypheus is dead, that is. In the meantime, we need every sword we have at our disposal in our war,” said Gwendolyn.

“As you command,” said Rainier.

“The real Warden Blackwall gave you the chance to atone through action, not merely punishment. I find I can do no less. That being said, I’m told the Joining is often fatal, as are the Deep Roads. Let the Maker decide what to do with you once Corypheus is dead,” said Gwendolyn.

“I am grateful for this, Inquisitor, and I will serve as long as I can,” said Rainier.

The guards released Rainier, the trial ended, and the room erupted in lively discussion of what had just happened.

The war council meeting that followed the trial was not a sedate one.

“The issue of Thom Rainier has been settled, but his deception has had far-reaching consequences. Had we not used the Grey Warden treaties, we might not have found ourselves in so awkward a position. As it is, I receive daily messages from all quarters, demanding we make reparations. We _must_ do something,” said Josephine.

“I’m sorry, did we embarrass a duchess at a soiree by stepping on her gown, or was the sky torn open and Haven beset by an ancient darkspawn magister? We needed the gold. We needed the men. You would have persuaded someone to part with them, with or without the treaties. We are not making reparations for doing what we had to do—what no one else could have done. Don’t forget, we are now allied with the Wardens. If we had no authority to conscript before, we do now,” argued Cullen.

“If we wish the Inquisition to survive beyond the defeat of Corypheus, we must make amends to for what we did. We used the Grey Warden Treaties under false pretenses, even if we did not believe it to be so. If we wish our allies to remain our allies after Corypheus is defeated, then we must not alienate and offend them,” said Josephine.

“We step forward, not back. No apologies. What happened with the Wardens gives us more authority than ever to use the treaties,” said Cullen.

Gwendolyn rubbed her forehead. “Leliana, any thoughts?”

“It is difficult to say. Though we did not have the proper authority at the time, we now have the Treaties to use as we see fit. Furthermore, one might argue that the presence of Corypheus constitutes a threat even worse than a Blight or at least equal to one. The Grey Wardens would certainly agree that we are and were justified. That being said, our allies may not agree,” said Leliana.

“We must not anger our allies. We have made a mistake, and thus we must make amends,” insisted Josephine.

“There is no point in that. Soon we will face Corypheus and his army head on. _Now _is not the time to be returning men and gold and apologizing for something that was no true fault of ours,” said Cullen.

“Inquisitor, please. The long-term effects of this may be devastating for the Inquisition,” pleaded Josephine.

“Out of curiosity, what was the extent to which we used the Treaties?” asked Gwendolyn.

“Enough that it would be a blow to our armies,” said Cullen with a hard look at Josephine.

“Leliana, you have friends among the Wardens. What do they think of all this?” asked Gwendolyn.

“Flora has been insufferably smug about it all. She mentioned that she was suspicious of the man we knew as Blackwall, particularly of his claims of having been in Ferelden during the Blight. I believe her exact words were, ‘Either he was in Ferelden during the Blight, neglected to assist us, and allowed the two most junior members of the Order to defeat an entire Blight on our own, or he’s lying about who he is.’ That being said, as what we did was in the name of closing the Breach and defeating Corypheus, she and Alistair both deem our actions justified, from both the perspective of Ferelden and as former Grey Wardens. The Wardens you now command feel similarly,” said Leliana.

“Exactly. The Wardens agree with us and we will appear as fools if we hang our heads and return everything. We need to move forward, and we need to defeat Corypheus, not waste our time arguing over change with nobles,” said Cullen.

“Sometimes there are more important things than fighting a war, Commander,” said Josephine tersely.

“It’s not just a war, it’s the _only _war, Ambassador. Do our _allies _realize that if there is no Inquisition to stop this monster and his army, then they will not exist long enough to enjoy the gold they took back?!” said Cullen.

“We can return what we took after Corypheus is defeated. In the meantime, don’t you think that stopping all this is more important?” said Gwendolyn as she massaged her temples.

“Inquisitor, though I know you often agree with our commander on certain matters, please consider the matter objectively,” said Josephine.

“Josie, I know you’re not accusing me of conflict of interest right now,” said Gwendolyn.

“Please, be reasonable, Inquisitor. This will not make us any friends and may cost us many,” said Josephine.

“I _am _being reasonable. And pragmatic. And I do not agree with him on everything. I disagree with at _least _half of everything Cullen says. Just not _this_,” said Gwendolyn.

“Then the matter is settled. We will not return anything we procured under the Treaties,” said Leliana.

Josephine made a face, or as much of a face as she ever made.

“Not all decisions in times of war will be ones that make us happy or that make us feel good,” said Leliana.

Josephine nodded once but said nothing.

“Wonderful, then I think we’re done here, yes?” said Gwendolyn.

Cullen retrieved his reports and left. Josephine all but teleported from the room. That left Gwendolyn and Leliana.

“Conflict of interest. I mean,” huffed Gwendolyn.

“She is not handling Rainier’s revelation well,” said Leliana.

“I knew they were close but were they…_close_?” asked Gwendolyn carefully.

“That was my impression, yes. I cannot imagine how this must be weighing on her,” said Leliana.

“Do you think she’s mad at me for the judgment I made?” asked Gwendolyn.

“Gwen, imagine you had just discovered that instead of being a templar, Cullen had been a disgraced murderer from the Fereldan army. Now imagine that he’d lied about everything you know about him, only to have this new truth come to light. How would you feel? What would you do?” said Leliana.

“Hypothetically?” said Gwendolyn.

“I doubt he could lie that convincingly about anything, but yes, for argument’s sake,” said Leliana.

“Hypothetically, he wouldn’t live long enough to regret what he did. That magic-fearing liar would either freeze or burn, whichever is most painful,” said Gwendolyn.

“Would he really? After everything, could you really wish him harm? Or would you instead blame yourself for not seeing through his treachery and lash out to hide your pain?” asked Leliana.

“Oh, I would wish him harm. I would wish him a great _deal _of harm. But I understand what you mean. Is there anything we can do for her?” said Gwendolyn.

“Not having him executed or jailed likely helped. Still, the best remedy is to simply be her friend and support her when she needs it. I will do what I can, but sometimes it’s the little things that help. Some flowers here, a few sweets there—you get the picture,” said Leliana.

“Antivan brandy and her favorite little Orlesian cakes?” offered Gwendolyn.

“And her favorite flowers are daffodils. Perhaps a few hands of Wicked Grace?” said Leliana.

Gwendolyn nodded. “All right. This sounds like a plan.”

“I have a friend in Antiva who knows more about brandy than anyone I’ve ever met. I’ll have him pick out something if you tackle the cakes,” said Leliana.

“I suddenly feel like I have very urgent business in Val Royeaux that requires my direct attention,” said Gwendolyn.

Leliana nodded in agreement, and thus the plan was made.

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first time actually posting any of my writing even though my friends have been bugging me to for years, so bear with me here. This started off as a way to fill a Dragon Age-sized void when I didn't have access to my Xbox and somehow devolved into an almost 400 page word document. 
> 
> Comments and constructive criticism are much appreciated!  



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